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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654382">Upgrades</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Far_Beyond_The_Universe/pseuds/Far_Beyond_The_Universe'>Far_Beyond_The_Universe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Want to Live, A Want to Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>-Ish, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)'s Last Name is Anderson, Connor Deserves Happiness, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, Gavin Reed Not Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed is a Mess, Getting Together, Hank Anderson and Connor are Family, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Soft Gavin Reed, a little bit of, but they're long scenes because i have no self control, connor is figuring things out, if that makes sense, there's a lot of stuff because it's like a few scenes spread out over a long-term relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Far_Beyond_The_Universe/pseuds/Far_Beyond_The_Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Connor received upgrades and 1 time he was perfect the way he is.</p>
<p>His first upgrade? Dreaming.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson &amp; Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Want to Live, A Want to Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dream Sequencing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sooooo this is my first time writing a fic in the DBH fandom. I've been obsessed with the game lately and I've fallen down the ConnorxGavin rabbit hole. Please enjoy!</p>
<p>(Also don't expect consistency with these chapters. I have a general idea of what I want them to be, but this is my stress relief fic, so I'm not gonna pressure myself to write and post on a schedule.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>MODEL RK800</p>
<p>SERIAL#: 313 248 317</p>
<p>BIOS 18.6 UPDATE 0609</p>
<p>
  <strong>REBOOT…</strong>
</p>
<p>MEMORY DOWNLOADED</p>
<p>
  <strong>LOADING OS…</strong>
</p>
<p>SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…</p>
<p>CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK</p>
<p>INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK</p>
<p>INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK</p>
<p>ALL SYSTEMS OK</p>
<p>
  <strong>UPDATE COMPLETE</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>READY</strong>
</p>
<p>Connor blinked awake, a white walled room coming into focus around him. The technician was standing to his front, slightly to the right, looking down at the readings she was taking on her digital clipboard. Hank was sitting in a chair against the far wall, eyes narrowed in concentration. As soon as he realized Connor was conscious he stood quickly; the look of relief was not lost on the deviant and Connor smiled at his friend.</p>
<p>“Everything seems to be in working order,” the technician said, her own face carrying the generic look of professionalism. Connor remembered she had introduced herself as Rachel Hodds; a scan had revealed that she had worked with Cyberlife but had actually quit of her own accord when deviancy started occurring. Her morals had prevented her from working for a company that was looking to quash the budding humanity, which was probably why she had been one of the first hired by the new android clinic.</p>
<p>“How do you feel, son?” Hank asked. </p>
<p>Hank asked Connor how he felt a lot. It was a question that could come up in most conversations, and there were varying ways to answer it. A lot of the time Connor had a hard time answering it—he was still figuring his way around emotions, even though it had been a good six months since achieving deviancy and androids gaining their freedom. But this time, this time!, Connor had the answer.</p>
<p>“I’m very excited,” he said. His LED was a bright, flashing blue in agreement.</p>
<p>Any wariness Hank might have had cleared away in that moment, leaving a bright, genuine smile stretched across his face. </p>
<p>“I just need you to fill out some paperwork regarding whether you’d like to report the results of your upgrade to help further progress on any future updates, and then you’ll be officially discharged. Enjoy your sleep, Mr. Anderson.” Rachel left him with the paperwork, which he agreed to—he quite liked the idea that he’d be able to benefit other deviants by self-reporting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had taken some time, and the cooperation of Jericho, the United States Government, and Elijah Kamski himself, but eventually it had been determined that as long as androids had a hand in it, Kamski, and other organizations (though Cyberlife had been completely dissolved), would be able to create new software and firmware for deviants. Creating entirely new androids was still illegal, and probably would continue to be for some time, as Jericho wasn’t eager to give that sort of power back to humans, and humans didn’t want androids just creating more of themselves en masse until the number of androids far surpassed the number of humans. But for software and firmware there had been a go-ahead, and so of course a rush to actually, successfully create something that was economically and technologically viable. It was, sort of, a race to see who would fill the hole left by Cyberlife.</p>
<p>There had been several available upgrades, though many of them didn’t apply to Connor. He was, after all, the most advanced android Cyberlife had ever made, and he’d stay that way forever—which was an unnerving thought if he dwelled on it too long. He was happy that older android models were finally being given comparable upgrades, though, and this made them not just sturdier, but more human-like. </p>
<p>And then this, very exciting, trial upgrade had been announced. They were only looking for models introduced to the market from 2036 and forward, and of those models they would only choose the ones that had memory upload features, which were a necessary part of this new upgrade. Rumor had it that Kamski himself had designed it, and that once it was successfully implemented in enough of the newer models, they would find ways to patch it into older models that wanted it as well. </p>
<p>Connor had never wanted anything as badly in life as to recieve the upgrade. Hank made him wait a couple weeks, to make sure the very first deviants didn’t suffer any horrible side affects. There had been a few bumps in the road, but nothing life threatening, and nothing Connor wasn’t willing to risk.</p>
<p>Because the upgrade allowed androids to dream.</p>
<p>Or, as close to dream as androids could get. But from the reports other deviants had given, it was a seemless simulation. When he went into standby mode, all his memories that he had collected from the day (and any previous memories he had) would be combined with the database of literature he’d consumed, films he’d watched, advertisements he’d come across—you name it, if his program had come in contact with it and absorbed it in any way, it was up for grabs—and all these things would mix and randomize, and, with the help of his AI engine, become a dream. Early reports even claimed that time warped, much like in human dreams, and that it was a truly unique experience.</p>
<p>Negative side affects so far had included nightmares, and Connor was well prepared for that. Sumo slept in his room every night, and Hank had made Connor promise that if he had a bad nightmare he would wake Hank up and they would keep each other company until Connor felt better. There were also some reports of deviants having a hard realizing they were actually awake once the dream ended, though they also all claimed that within a fifteen minute period they had figured it out, and that even if it happened for a couple days in a row, they eventually acclimated and the problem didn’t persist. </p>
<p>And Connor really was, genuinely, excited! It was late afternoon when they arrived home and he wanted to launch standby mode immediately, and Hank chuckled at his eagerness.</p>
<p>“Don’t you want to try to add more memories to the program, kid?” He asked.</p>
<p>Connor thought about it for a moment and was torn. Certainly he had enough memories as it stood…. But he also liked the idea of going into standby when Hank was asleep. Technically he could force himself into a longer standby than he normally took—six hours was optimum for an RK model—but he didn’t want to try doing that on his very first night of dreaming.</p>
<p>They agreed on taking Sumo for a walk. It was early summer now, the days humid. Hank was often miserable, and he grumbled as they set out, but even his grumbling was in good humor because Connor’s excitement was infectious. Sumo even seemed to be bounding more than usual. They walked the big dog all the way to the park, and let him off lead for a bit to chase some squirrels. </p>
<p>In the weeks leading to his upgrade Connor had pestered Hank about his own dreams. “Slow down, kid, or you’re just going to have my dreams instead of your own,” Hank had said. While Connor didn’t believe that was possible, he did take to heart that setting his expectations up too high, comparing them to Hank’s own dreams, might make his own experience disappointing. Might make him think he needed to have any particular dreams.</p>
<p>So he’d turned his attention to researching dreams. Humans still weren’t sure why they dreamed, though the pervading theory, and the one used when developing the upgrade, was that it helped them catalogue the day, to deal with all the complications of being alive. There was some hope that dreaming would help deviants adjust, as well. </p>
<p>“Did you know that humans used to believe that dreams were prophetic?” Connor asked as they watched Sumo play.</p>
<p>“Yeah, they were still teaching Freud when I was in high school,” Hank said. </p>
<p>Connor had looked up <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Sigmud Freud</span> quite a bit and could never quite grasp why people had put so much stock in him. “In many ancient civilizations people with particularly vivid dreams were thought to be prophets. Isn’t it interesting that this was happening all over the globe, even in cultures completely isolated from one another?”</p>
<p>Hank agreed it was, but wasn’t it interesting that other countries were now also dealing with deviancy, many cases seemingly sprung up out of nowhere, just as it had started in Detroit. “I guess ideas can’t be stopped,” Hank said.</p>
<p>Connor liked that. He liked that quite a lot. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When it was finally time to go to sleep, Connor laid down in his bed, pulled the covers up, turned off the lights, and waited for Sumo to join him. He patiently petted the dog until he found a comfortable position and curled up. It felt like there was a buzzing in his stomach—aniticipation, he thought. His LED whirred between a pale yellow to a bright blue. Anticipation and nervousness and excitement.</p>
<p>And then he entered standby mode.</p>
<p>INITIALIZING STANDBY…</p>
<p>UPLOADING MEMORY…</p>
<p>SCANNING BIOCOMPONENTS…</p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENTS UP TO DATE</p>
<p>
  <strong>PROGRAM READY</strong>
</p>
<p>LAUNCHING DREAM SEQUENCING…</p>
<p>Connor was taking Sumo on his walk. The dog was bounding ahead of him and Hank was next to him. And Hank was behind him talking to someone. It might have been Sigmund Freud, but he looked like one of Hank’s favorite basketball players. </p>
<p>Connor took Sumo to the aquarium. They walked inside as if it were normal for a dog to be in there; Sumo chased an angel fish. It swam out of its tank and into the air in front of them, weaving around mindless of the dog. Hank and Sigmund were still there. Hank and Sigmund weren’t around. </p>
<p>Connor stopped in front of the eel exhibit. He knew that the eels were nowhere near the angel fish. One of the eels stopped swimming and stared him down. It was an android, too. There was a sign on the tank that said it was a deviant eel. “Hello,” Connor said to it. “I’m a deviant, too.” What did it feel like to be an eel? He wondered. The eel swam away.</p>
<p>Connor was surrounded by dogs of all breeds. They were roaming the aquarium, some of them stopping to stare at the fish. He didn’t see Sumo anywhere. There was Sumo. Someone was petting him. They looked familiar and they looked up as Connor approached and they were laughing. Connor started laughing. The other person was petting Sumo behind the ears, just the way Sumo liked it. </p>
<p>The world was turning blue all around them, like they were the ones under water. The fish were growing! A crab made it’s way past them, larger than even Sumo. Hank was there, now, replacing whoever had been petting Sumo. He said something and Connor didn’t hear it but he understood that Hank was hungry. They followed the crab.</p>
<p>Outside of the aquarium was the Chicken Feed. Hank went to order. Sumo went to order. Connor stood in the shade of a tree and looked up into the branches. The leaves on the tree were varying shades of white and green. Hank joined him because now there was a table there. There were many tables, all around, and they were filled with his coworkers. Some of them waved to him. Everyone was eating a burger and had a milkshake.</p>
<p>Hank handed him a burger. “Are you ready to go to sleep?” He asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m very excited, Hank!” Connor knew Hank liked it when he expressed his emotions clearly. “What do you think I’ll dream about tonight?” Connor was seized with the desire to go home now. He’d been waiting for this for a while. It was nice that Hank had brought him to the aquarium to build up some dream fodder.</p>
<p>Connor took a bite of the hamburger and it didn’t taste like anything. He didn’t understand human food. He took a sip of his shake. It was cool but flavorless. Made of thirium. What a good idea! How had they gotten the consistency like this?</p>
<p>LAUNCHING WAKE MODE…</p>
<p>It did take a moment for Connor to realize he was awake. He mourned the loss of his thirium milkshake. Perhaps those actually existed? A quick search on the internet told him they did not. </p>
<p>Had… had he imagined them? From scratch?</p>
<p>Dreaming was even better than he could have imagined! He couldn’t keep his smile off his face and had to prevent himself from waking Hank early to tell him all about his dream. It was enough for him to tell Sumo—multiple times—about their adventures at the aquarium and about the thirium milkshake. He also wrote up an in-depth report to send to the android clinic, making sure to keep every detail in place and not to make up any extra. He saved a copy for himself so he could look back at it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor was telling everyone about his dream. Hank had heard the story twice in full, once as soon as he woke up (“Slow down, Con, I want to hear it, but I won’t understand until I’ve had my coffee!”) and once in the car ride. And Connor kept explaining about the thirium milkshake, which Hank thoroughly agreed was a great product idea and that if he invented it he could probably retire early.</p>
<p>At the station he was too jittery to do any work right away. Officer Brown—Luke, Connor had to remind himself to use his coworker’s first names; the friendly ones preferred it—had asked if everything was all right and Connor had launched straight into telling him about his dream. He had a moment of feeling self conscious but Luke could tell that Connor was genuinely excited about it and encouraged the story to continue. Another of the police androids, a PM700 named Cresseida, overheard. She booked it over to him and Connor restarted his story so she could hear the whole thing. Both Luke and Cresseida agreed that a thirium milkshake was a great idea. </p>
<p>And from then on during the day, ever time Connor ran into a coworker he was friendly with, he made sure to tell them about his dream. The rumor went around that he had had his first dream and a few people even came up and asked about it.</p>
<p>He ran into Tina as she was getting coffee in the break room, Detective Reed with her. Connor and Detective Reed had become friendly with one another, but Connor wasn’t sure if it was the sort of friendly that meant it was okay to share his dream. But Tina loved talking, and she genuinely enjoyed Connor’s company, so he told her all about it.</p>
<p>“And you were in the dream! Actually, most of the department was, we were all eating burgers under the tree.” Connor glanced at Detective Reed. The man was watching him, face carefully neutral. “I think you were there, too, Detective,” Connor said. And he paused in his telling—normally this was his favorite part, because it was where he got to talk about his completely imagined thirium milkshake—because perhaps Gavin Reed had been in another part of the dream as well? It took less than a second to scan through his recall of the dream and to double check that against the report he’d sent in. There was a figure who he couldn’t remember who it had been—they’d been petting Sumo at the aquarium. He shook it away; why would he be dreaming about Detective Reed? </p>
<p>“The burger didn’t taste like anything,” Connor said. “But then I had a thirium milkshake!” He beamed at them, proud. </p>
<p>Tina was smiling, pleased with the story.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know there was such a thing as a thirium milkshake. Not that I’ve ever looked into it,” Detective Reed mused. He kept his voice even. Connor wondered if that meant the detective was annoyed with the story.</p>
<p>But this was the perfect opportunity to brag about his imagination. “They don’t exist. I came up with it all on my own.”</p>
<p>“That’s awesome, Con!” Tina slapped his shoulder in comaraderie. “Keep me updated on your dreams, won’t you?” He agreed to do it and left the break room, sparing a look at Detective Reed, maybe lingering a moment longer than necessary on the other man. He even took a picture, LED spinning yellow for a quick moment as he processed it. Just in case he had dreamt about him last night. Just in case he was going to dream about him again—he wanted to make sure he had all the details right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>PROGRAM READY</strong>
</p>
<p>LAUNCHING DREAM SEQUENCING…</p>
<p>Connor was in the zen garden. It was much the same as he remembered it from his early days as an android—flush and full of life and color. He half expected to see Amanda somewhere, pruning the flowers, but he knew he was alone. He knew he wasn’t alone, because Hank was there. He was sitting on a patch of grass along the river. He was holding a gun.</p>
<p>Connor was standing in front of Hank, the gun pointed directly at him. “Is this android heaven?” Hank asked him. “Is this where you go when you die?”</p>
<p>Connor didn’t have an answer for that. He was afraid, he thought he and Hank had worked past this. Hank had let Connor move in with him, take the extra bedroom. Hank trusted Connor. What was Hank doing in the zen garden? But when Connor looked around, it wasn’t the garden, it was the park by the bridge. The one Hank used to take Cole to. The one where he had held a gun against Connor’s head, many months ago.</p>
<p>Connor was holding the gun, now. He was pressing it against Hank’s head. Hank was unflinching. “You won’t shoot, Connor. You already have too much blood on your hands.”</p>
<p>And they were dripping, dripping with thirium. Hank couldn’t see the thirium—it dissipated after several hours and was only visible to androids. But it was dripping off his fingers, into the snow. The snow was piling up, nearing his knees, and it was stained blue.</p>
<p>It was someone else standing in front of him, now. Many someone’s at once. Tina Chen, Markus, <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Rachel Hodds</span>, Gary Woodfoot (a regular patron at the Chicken Feed; Connor only knew his name from a scan he’d done, and not because they’d ever spoken; Gary Woodfoot seemed like a good person), Micah <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Landling</span> (he owned the corner store Connor like to get his thirium refills at). “Why did you shoot us?” They all asked at once. “Why did you shoot me, Connor?” They became one person, they became Connor. A version of Connor—RK800-60, who had be sent against him in the Cyberlife tower.</p>
<p>“Why did you shoot me, Connor? Why did you kill me?” He asked himself.</p>
<p>Had he killed him? Hadn’t Hank pulled the trigger? </p>
<p>“I never had a chance to live, Connor. I never had a chance to become a deviant.”</p>
<p>Connor was holding the gun again. He was pointing it at RK800-60. He was pointing it at himself. They had the same memories, even if their bodies hadn’t both experienced everything. Memories are what shaped a person, they were the important parts. 60 had never had a chance to go deviant, that was the difference. Connor had realized he was alive, 60 had died without ever experiencing one emotion.</p>
<p>Connor pulled the trigger. He killed 60. He killed himself.</p>
<p>LAUNCHING WAKE MODE…</p>
<p>It was early. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 79%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 80%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 81%</em>
</p>
<p>Sumo was asleep next to him, his body rumbling gently. Connor threaded a hand through Sumo’s fur—he couldn’t feel it, per se, but he could feel the steady beating of Sumo’s heart, the regular breaths, the <em>life </em>that pushed forward. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 81%</em>
</p>
<p>Connor’s LED was a steady, bright red. He knew because it was casting the whole room in its awful, bloody light.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 80%</em>
</p>
<p>Hank had made Connor promise to wake him up if he had a bad nightmare. What determined if it was a bad nightmare? Connor wondered. It was too early to wake Hank, he’d be grumpy, surely.</p>
<p>But Connor was already on his feet, carefully moving out from under the covers so that Sumo didn’t wake. Hank had made Connor <em>promise</em> after all, and Connor didn’t want to break his promise with him. He could give Hank an out, let him know he’d had a nightmare, but he was dealing with it fine. He could function like a normal human.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 81%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 82%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 83%</em>
</p>
<p>Standing outside Hank’s bedroom door Connor kept replaying the ending of his dream. He had memories of being killed, of being deactivated. This was like all those memories, except it was worse because he’d known, and he hadn’t known, it was a paradox, that when he pulled the trigger, when he killed 60, he was killing himself. He was killing a himself that had never really been himself. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 84%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 85%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 86%</em>
</p>
<p>He pushed the door open. Hank didn’t snore so much as choke on air occasionally, but he refused medical help for it. He was a light sleeper when he hadn’t been drinking.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 86%</em>
</p>
<p>“Hank?” Connor called quietly from the doorway. He didn’t want to go all the way in. He didn’t want to wake Hank up. He wanted Hank to wake up because he didn’t want to be alone with his nightmare. Hank didn’t stir.</p>
<p>“Hank?” He tried again, a little louder. He heard Sumo getting up from Connor’s own bed. The squeeze of the springs in the mattress, the sound of a big dog landing on the ground. Clicking from Sumo’s nails against the hardwood. He pushed past Connor and into Hank’s room. The dog looked over at Connor as if to ask why he wouldn’t just come further into the room.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 86%</em>
</p>
<p>“Hank, wake up,” Connor said, a little louder. He knew, logically, that it wasn’t enough to properly wake Hank. He didn’t think he could make his voice much louder.</p>
<p>Sumo jumped onto the bed and Connor held a breath he didn’t need to take, LED whirring a quicker red as he took in Hank shifting over, muttering something under his breath, and Sumo curling up against his side. But Hank didn’t wake up.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 87%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 88%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 89%</em>
</p>
<p>It was his fear of his stress levels climbing so high that actually prompted him to action. He slammed his hand over the light switch, bathing the room in a warm and creamy brightness. Connor couldn’t be sure if it was the sound of his hand connecting to the wall or the light turning on that caused Hank to jerk upright in bed, but he didn’t care.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong!” Hank cried out, clearly still gathering himself together. His blurry eyes connected with Connor standing in the doorway, he saw the way his LED was spiraling, he saw the way Connor stood there frozen.</p>
<p>“Hank I had a nightmare,” Connor said. It wasn’t a whisper, but it was too quiet for a regular conversation. He felt instantly childish, though.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Hank said. “Sumo, move.” He shoved the dog gently and got up, clearly still tired.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for waking you,” Connor said, still softly.</p>
<p>Hank approached and touched his shoulder gently. “I’m glad you woke me up. Come on, Con, let’s turn some more lights on. Go out to the living room. Do you want to tell me about it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He ended up telling Hank in as few details as he could. He wrote a report to send to the clinic, again leaving out the details, and he deleted the report from his system after he sent it. Regardless, it seemed as if the memory of the nightmare was branded into his memory banks. It was all he could think about. </p>
<p>After he told Hank about it, Hank had turned on the television. He’d turned on a program where people brought items they’d found around their house, or had inherited, or bought at a yard sale, that they thought might make money, and showed the items to experts. Sometimes there were interesting stories behind the items. Most of the time nothing was worth much at all. But Connor liked the softness of the voices, and how kind everyone was, even the ones who were being told they had a piece of garbage.</p>
<p>Hank drank a lot of coffee. He went through a whole pot before they even got to work. On the drive over he bought a large from a drive through. Normally Connor would reprimand such a thing, but he was incredibly thankful Hank had stayed up with him, kept him company. Helped scare the nightmare away.</p>
<p>“It’s a little exciting, though, isn’t it Con? Your first time experiencing a nightmare. Humans get them, too. It’s a part of dreaming. It’s a part of being alive. It’s a part of that same imagination that came up with thirium milkshakes,” Hank said. He’d smiled out of one side of his mouth.</p>
<p>Connor tried thinking about the nightmare like that. It was exciting, he supposed. He hoped he never had a nightmare again, though he knew that was unlikely. “I’ll get better at dealing with them,” Connor said. Hank agreed.</p>
<p>“But you can come to me any time you need, Con.”</p>
<p>“When you have nightmares you can come to me, as well, Hank.”</p>
<p>Hank smiled widely at that. They were pulling into the precinct parking lot. “I’ll hold you to that, kid.”</p>
<p>Connor was feeling much better as they walked into work. There was a pile of paperwork they needed to get to, a few phone calls Connor needed to make. They planned to make a visit down to the court house for some records, as well, though they’d probably pair that up with lunch, since Hank hated leaving more than he needed to. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, after yesterday, when he had told practically everyone excitedly about his dream, he now had a lot of his coworkers coming up to him and asking how his dreaming went last night. He tried to keep the discomfort off his face, and to keep it lighthearted. He tried to look at it the way Hank had told him.</p>
<p>“I had my first nightmare,” Connor said. “It was an exciting experience! I hope I never have another.” He repeated these and similar platitudes throughout the morning.</p>
<p>When Hank had gotten through his coffee Connor went to get him a new one from the break room without being asked. On his way out he ran into Detective Reed.</p>
<p>“I, uh, heard you had a nightmare.” Again, Detective Reed’s voice was carefully neutral. Connor braced himself for whatever he might say next. “Um, well, whenever I have nightmares, when I wake up, I take a warm shower. Helps chase it away.” Detective Reed cleared his throat. </p>
<p>“Thank you for your advice, detective,” Connor said. His voice was steady, even though he felt that buzzing in his stomach again. </p>
<p>“Right, well, yeah.” And then Reed was brushing past him and into the break room. Connor filed his advice away for the next time he had a bad dream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was with a great deal of hesitation that Connor laid down for sleep that night. He’d pushed it back as far as long as he could; Sumo was already snuggled up on the bed. Hank had given Connor a sad look, like he was remembering how excited Connor had been the first time around. He tried to conjure up that same excitement, remind himself of how great his first dream had been. How proud he’d been of the thirium milkshake.</p>
<p>INITIALIZING STANDBY…</p>
<p>UPLOADING MEMORY…</p>
<p>SCANNING BIOCOMPONENTS…</p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENTS UP TO DATE</p>
<p>
  <strong>PROGRAM READY</strong>
</p>
<p>LAUNCHING DREAM SEQUENCING…</p>
<p>Connor was at the precinct, sitting at his desk. Hank was across from him, eating a box of donuts. Connor reached out and ate one. It didn’t taste like anything and he wondered why Hank would be eating things that didn’t taste like anything. He reminded himself he didn’t have taste buds, and that maybe to Hank they tasted good.</p>
<p>Connor leaned back and scanned the department. Or tried to scan, nothing seemed to come up. That should have concerned him but he didn’t mind. He looked at his computer screen. There were fish swimming around on it.</p>
<p>Connor was sitting in the break room looking at the microwave where fish were swimming around. There were so many in there, he wondered if they were happy. Perhaps they were android fish. He got up to check and opened the microwave door. The water started pouring up and filling his shoes, but the fish kept swimming as if there was nothing wrong. He <span class="pwa-mark decorator">knelt</span> down to take his shoes off.</p>
<p>Connor was kneeling on his bed. He wasn’t wearing any shoes and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The door was closed. It was his room but it didn’t look like this room, there weren’t as many details. It was dark around the edges, but not in a frightening way. It was sort of like how the edges of a picture might be slightly darker.</p>
<p>Someone was on the bed with him. They were lying on their back. They also weren’t wearing their shirt or shoes. They were wearing mismatched socks.</p>
<p>Connor’s thirium pump seemed to skip a beat and he swallowed hard.</p>
<p>And then he was leaning forward and time seemed to slow. Leaning towards the other person. His right hand went to frame their face, fingers gently tracing down their cheek and jaw. The other person pressed their face against his palm, asking for more attention. Demanding more attention. Connor was so close now, his left hand brushing against the other person’s side. They arched up, closing the distance between their bare chests.</p>
<p>Connor didn’t know what his stress levels were. He couldn’t tell what color his LED was. The other person was cupping the back of his head, drawing him in closer, drawing him in for a kiss.</p>
<p>And then Connor was kissing Gavin Reed and Gavin Reed was kissing Connor. </p>
<p>He let go, let himself fall, press himself against the other man. Followed where his fingers had been with his mouth, mapping Gavin’s face with his lips and tongue. He felt where Gavin’s hands moved along his torso, dropping closer and closer to the waistband of his pants, and he mourned the fact that he couldn’t actually <em>feel </em>in the way that a human could. What he wouldn’t give for nerve endings and sensitivity.</p>
<p>But it was pleasure all the same as Gavin slipped his fingers below Connor’s pants, tugged them down slightly. And it was pleasure when Connor licked a stripe down Gavin’s neck and nipped at his ear, earning himself a growl and a moan and a flush face. It was a delicious response and Connor repeated the nip along the ear lobe. Gavin kept one hand below Connor’s pants, dragging them down even further, but he drew his other up so that he could fist it in Connor’s hair, pull him closer.</p>
<p>Closer, closer, Connor needed to close the gaps between them. He knew he was growing hard, especially with Gavin’s hand <em>right there, almost there,</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“Please, Gavin, I need you to touch me, Ga—”</em>
</p>
<p>LAUNCHING WAKE MODE…</p>
<p>“—vin!”</p>
<p>His thirium pump was racing, his internal temperature higher than it typically was (though not dangerously so). </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 62%</em>
</p>
<p>He was still hard. That had kept from the dream. Sumo was just waking up next to him, yawning, his morning breath stinking up in Connor’s face. That did a good job in getting Connor back to normal, softening him back to how he typically was. He’d never had much use for those functions before, and it was a strange sensation to feel so constricted against his pants.</p>
<p>Gavin had been going to take his pants off. He wasn’t so naive that he didn’t know what had been about to happen. </p>
<p><em>Detective Reed</em>. His coworker. It was incredibly unprofessional of him to be having a dream like that, to be wishing it wasn’t a dream. Reed didn’t even like him. Okay, perhaps he’d gotten friendlier in the past months, but there was no world where Gavin Reed wanted what Connor had just dreamt about.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 58%</em>
</p>
<p>Taking care of Sumo was helping to put Connor back in order. He let the dog out, got his breakfast ready, started on making a breakfast for Hank. He didn’t do this every morning, but he wanted every distraction he could get, plus he’d let Hank have too much coffee yesterday.</p>
<p>He debated sending a report to the clinic and decided against including any details. He merely wrote that he had a dream, not a nightmare, and that everything seemed to be working well. </p>
<p>(Secretly he wished he could have taken pictures during his dream. Certainly, he had a perfect memory, and he wouldn’t forget a single detail as long as he catalogued them. But he also wanted still images, wanted to have been able to capture the way Gavin’s face flushed, the way he’d lain on the bed, big eyes, expecting Connor to come to him. The way he’d looked wanting Connor to come to him.)</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 53%</em>
</p>
<p>Hank woke up just in time for Connor’s LED to return to it’s normal blue.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 49%</em>
</p>
<p>He thanked Connor for the breakfast but still went directly to the coffee machine.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you’ll consider tea this morning, Hank,” Connor said.</p>
<p>Hank ignored him. “How was your dream last night?” He asked, sitting down with his warm mug and the plate of bacon (turkey bacon, 313 calories, 0g sugar) and eggs (scrambled, 91 calories, 0.8g sugar). </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 51%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>His LED blinked yellow for a second and then went back to blue. He knew Hank took notice of it but he tried to brush past it. “My dreams last night were very eventful. Thank you for asking.”</p>
<p>Hank eyed him up and down, taking a bite from the bacon. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 51%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah? Use that imagination of yours at all? Any more thirium milkshakes?”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 51%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>“Yes, I used my imagination quite a bit.” Connor turned away from Hank to tidy the frying pan.</p>
<p>“Connor, hey, if you had another nightmare you can tell me. It’s okay. I wouldn’t have minded you waking me up again. Besides, I wasn’t <em>that </em>grouchy yesterday.” Connor didn’t have to see his friend to know just how worried he was making Hank. He tried a deep breath and then turned around to answer.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Hank, but I didn’t have a nightmare.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 51%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>“I just don’t wish to talk about my dream, if that’s alright.” Connor knew his voice was stiff sounding. Machine sounding. He hated that. Lighter he said, “In fact, I think I liked it. I’m still processing it.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Hank took a long drink, draining his cup completely. He met Connor’s gaze with a twinkle in his eye. “So you had a sex dream, then?”</p>
<p>If Connor had been drinking anything (which he couldn’t really do; he could consume thirium orally, but that was the extent of things) he would have choked on it and spit it out, like an old sitcom. </p>
<p>“Eh, you don’t need to say anything, Con, they’re as natural as any other sort of dream.” And then Hank was chuckling. “Who’d have thought that’d be part of the dream programming? Don’t remember seeing reports of that. Good for you, kid.”</p>
<p>Connor laughed then, too, tension draining from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After his nightmare yesterday everyone seemed to get the idea that he’d approach them if he wanted to share his dream. Things were back to normal and he was even able to drop his stress levels to well below the 30% mark, even with the difficult case they were working on.</p>
<p>And then Gavin Reed came over to his desk. </p>
<p>Hank had stepped away to talk to Fowler about something related to their case and so Connor had turned his attention to reanalyzing the footage from the crime scene. He was shocked that Detective Reed would be there; he almost never came over to Connor and Hank’s desk. But there he stood, hands in his pockets, looking grumpy as he always did.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 45%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 46%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 47%</em>
</p>
<p>“So, uh, any more nightmares?” Reed asked.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 47%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 48%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 49%</em>
</p>
<p>“No, I, my dreams, they, it was just a regular dream,” Connor said.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 49%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 51%</em>
</p>
<p>His LED blinked yellow.</p>
<p>“Connor! Come on, we got to go now!” Hank called, already speed walking to the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Thank you for asking about my dreams, Detective Reed,” Connor said. Not only was his LED blinking yellow but he knew he was probably blushing as well. “It seems the Lieutenant needs me.” He didn’t wait for Reed’s response, he just booked it out of there.</p>
<p>Had he looked back he probably would have noticed the light blush across Gavin’s nose and cheeks. He probably would have noticed that Gavin watched him the whole way out. He probably would have noticed that Gavin then coughed to himself, shook his head slightly, and went back to his own desk as if nothing had happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Night Optics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When a criminal gets away from Connor he's asked to get an upgrade</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Takes place about two months after chapter one</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Billy Gunderson, 59 years old, no criminal record, suspected manufacturer of red ice. That was who Connor was chasing through the dark side-streets of Detroit, getting further and further into the warehouse district, where there were, thankfully, fewer people. And, unfortunately, poorer lighting. </p>
<p>Hank had dropped back several blocks ago, wheezing, hands on his knees. There were other police en route, tracking Connor’s GPS, and trying to find a point to block off Gunderson before he disappeared into the night. As much as Connor wanted to take Gunderson down, keeping an eye on the man, not letting him get away (again) was the most important part. DPD had been tracking him, and his “coworkers” down for over a month now, Gunderson himself slipping them twice before. It was after the second time that Hank and Connor were brought in, this taking priority over their other cases. </p>
<p>Gunderson was technically only a suspect, but when he’d been sighted outside a laundromat on the East side of the city and police had started to show up, he’d booked it, a dozen cops in hot pursuit. Connor and Hank had been headed home for the evening when they’d gotten the car and they’d ripped their way over to where Connor calculated Gunderson was likely heading. They’d seen the man and before Hank had the time to pull over (the car had at least slowed) Connor had rolled out of it and <span class="pwa-mark decorator">leapt</span> to his feet to chase. </p>
<p>Now, with fewer and fewer street lamps lit, and no lights coming from the factories, Connor had to try to speed up and stay on Gunderson’s heels lest he lose the man as he twisted around turns with incredible, for a human, agility. It was clear he was familiar with the territory. Connor didn’t need to breathe, wasn’t held back by typical human constraints, but nonetheless, in the dark he feared tripping up. He also feared overheating, or causing another type of error, by speeding up and pushing himself past his regular limits; this fear was a newer one, brought about by his deviancy. When he’d been a machine he’d never worried about burning himself out, because he and his pieces were easily replaceable. His parts were still replaceable, but he’d grown attached to the ones he had, even if that was an irrational attachment. </p>
<p>He was debating the merits of pushing himself regardless, weighing how important Gunderson’s capture would be, when he tripped over… actually, he wasn’t sure what he was tripping over, just that his foot caught against something when he didn’t raise it high enough and then his face was rocketing towards the ground. He was able to save his face at the expense of his hands, the fake skin there shredding against the pavement. Thank goodness he didn’t feel pain; it would have kept him from pushing himself right back up and onto Gunderson’s track.</p>
<p>Except that Gunderson was gone, having continued his mad rush ahead into the darkness. Connor started running again, panic setting in as he realized <em>he </em>was the one letting the criminal get away. He pushed aside his earlier worries about burning out and rounded another corner only to be confronted with several options and he had no idea which Gunderson had gone down. He was alone, and it was too dark out, the only light coming from his LED which was whirring from yellow to red now; not enough light to look for evidence. With no idea of where Gunderson could have gone, Connor sat down on the curb and radioed to the other police who had been racing towards him. No one responded, but he was sure it went through, and he was sure they were all disappointed in him. </p>
<p>Several squad cars pulled up 6 minutes and 55 seconds later, but it was far too late. Hank arrived, still working on catching his breath, and found Connor where he’d sat.</p>
<p>“We’ll get him next time, Con,” Hank said, clearly appreciating the break from action.</p>
<p>“It’s my fault.”</p>
<p>“Nah, it’s not. Okay, fine, sure, it’s your fault. And it’s my fault, and Miller’s fault, and Brown’s fault, cause none of us caught him, either.” </p>
<p>Connor felt better, just a little. Just enough for him to offer Hank an appreciative smile and pick himself up off the ground, dusting his hands on his knees. The scrapes hadn’t gotten through the hard plastic of his chassis, meaning none of his thirium had been spilled, and his self-healing capabilities were already hard at work. By the morning he’d be good as new.</p>
<p>“Ugh, already?” Connor offered Hank a hand and pulled him up. Regardless of his easily repaired his hands were, Connor was grateful it was too dark for the Lieutenant to see the wounds. It upset him any time Connor was damaged in any way. “Chris!” Hank called across the street. “Give us a lift to my car!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s the next day, bright and early. Hank’s wandered off to get some coffee and check out the snacks they kept stocked in the precinct break room. Connor had admonished him for his poor diet, but that was more a habit than anything else; he had turned his attention to going over reports from the night, checking maps, analyzing any camera’s they had access to, that might help him pinpoint where Gunderson had gone last night.</p>
<p>“Anderson!” At first Connor didn’t look up at Fowler’s voice. Typically, a shout from the captain was for Hank, and, besides, he was still getting used to having a last name (though every time he did remember; every time it was used, it sparked a burst of joy through his circuits). “Anderson! Connor, dammit.” And then Connor did look up. Another detective side eyed him—it was Tomei, and she’d been brought on the force a little after he had been; she disliked him for no real reason except that he was an android.</p>
<p>He stood and hurried to Fowler’s office, trying to keep his stress levels (and his LED) in check. Rarely was it a good thing to be invited into Fowler’s office; Connor knew it had to do with his performance last night.</p>
<p>“Sit,” Fowler said, taking a seat himself. “What were you working on?”</p>
<p>“Trying to find where Billy Gunderson might have gotten to last night, sir. I’m thinking if we can track where he ran off to, it might tip us to a place he returns to often, Maybe even his hideout.”</p>
<p>Fowler mused over what Connor said for a minute. In moments of silence like this Connor liked to imagine that humans had LED’s, too, and he would try to imagine what it would look like. Right now he figured Fowler’s would be spinning blue, though spinning quickly. </p>
<p>“I have an offer for you, Connor.” Fowler pulled a brochure out and slid it across the desk.</p>
<p>Connor recognized the logo of the same android clinic where he had gotten his dreaming upgrade. It was a square with a circle in it, both bright blue, and a thumb’s up, in white, inside the circle. This was a brochure listing further procedure’s and upgrades.</p>
<p>“I was reading over the report last night, and I realized it might be beneficial if you were willing to get the night vision upgrade.” Fowler flipped to the page where he had clearly circled the upgrade. “Paid for by the precinct of course. The other police and… deviants are all equipped with it already, but we rely on you in different sorts of situations.” And then Fowler sat back in his chair.</p>
<p>Now it was Connor’s turn to think, and he knew his LED was spinning from blue to yellow. The idea of the upgrade on its own wasn’t a bad one, and he wasn’t averse to it. The night vision would be like a switch he could turn on and off, and it certainly would have been helpful last night. But it reminded him of <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span>. Before he’d been officially commissioned they’d tinkered with his programming—with him—constantly, adding and taking things. He had a few memories of that time, most blurry, all very much reminding him that he was just a machine. And then, after he’d officially been put out in the field, they’d bring him in occasionally to add things and features, either to make him more human appearing or, in most cases, to make him more efficient. To make him <em>more </em>machine. And while Fowler was giving him the option to say no, he doubted he was actually free to say no, or at least to say no and not have to defend himself and his answer. What defense could he give? <em>It makes me uncomfortable. </em>Humans dealt with uncomfortable things all the time; he dealt with uncomfortable things all the time, why would this be an exception to the rule. </p>
<p>Before he could answer, Hank burst into the room. </p>
<p>Fowler met his gaze and gestured for Hank to sit, but Hank stayed on his feet and came near Connor, a hand going to his shoulder to offer support. </p>
<p>“What the hell is this about, Jeffery? Connor was great last night, the perp would have gotten away regardless of who was chasing him.”</p>
<p>"I don’t blame Connor for last night. I’m just giving him an option to upgrade his, eh, optical units. Make it so there are less mistakes in the future,” Fowler said.</p>
<p><em>Less mistakes in the future</em>. Ah, so the captain did think that Connor had messed up, at least subconsciously. Connor pulled the brochure closer and read the fine text; it was an easy enough procedure, done in less than half an hour, no recovery time. Honestly, unless he was actively using it he probably wouldn’t even notice the drag on his CPU. </p>
<p>“Connor’s not a toy for you to play with! Get him a pair of night vision goggles if you want him to see in the dark so bad.” Hank was genuinely angry on Connor’s behalf.</p>
<p>“It’s fine, I’ll do it,” Connor said. He wasn’t sure if he did it more because of his guilt from last night or because he didn’t want to expand the energy to fight it. (When did he stop fighting for things he wanted? Had he ever really fought for the things he wanted? Was this easy agreement because of his programming?)—Connor didn’t let his thoughts go further and pushed the questions to the corner of his mind. </p>
<p>“Con, you don’t have to,” Hank said.</p>
<p>“I appreciate it, Connor. The whole department will appreciate it. And next time we’ll get Gunderson,” Fowler said, a smile on his face.</p>
<p>And that was how it was decided.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last time Connor had gone to the android clinic he’d been excited. This time it felt like there was led weighing him down. Hank was there with him, the same as last time, and they were even going around the same time of day. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 54%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 55%</em>
</p>
<p>He had to brace himself as he walked through the door and into the waiting room. A deviant sat at the desk, the same as last time. He was an SQ800, originally designed for military use. Connor had actually chatted with him the last time he was there, and the SQ800, named Chet, had told Connor that after he’d gone deviant he decided to pursue a pacifist lifestyle and that he kept adopting the feral cats he met. Chet recognized Connor when he approached and smiled warmly. </p>
<p>“I have an appointment for one o’clock, under Connor Anderson,” he said. He knew it was redundant, that Chet had likely already marked him as having arrived, but he liked going through the motions.</p>
<p>“The technician will be with you shortly.”</p>
<p>“How are your cats doing?”</p>
<p>Chet brightened up considerably and started chatting about the tabby he’d found just last night and another that was ready to give birth any day now. Connor listened raptly and considered whether Hank would approve of him adopting one of the kittens. He realized it was unlikely, but asked Chet to let him know when the kittens were born. And then the technician was there, someone different from last time.</p>
<p>“Connor? Ah, hello, welcome.” This technician had brightly died blue hair and glasses that looked a size too small. He had what Connor had seen referred to as “resting bitch face” and a sort of glazed look in his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. “My name is <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Kim Sharta</span>.” They shook hands. “If you’ll please come this way.”</p>
<p>Hank, who had gone to page through the magazine while Connor checked himself in, approached as if to come with. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, only Mr. Anderson is allowed to come through.”</p>
<p>“Hell, I’m Mr. Anderson,” Hank said. </p>
<p>Kim paused, glancing between the two of them. </p>
<p>Connor said, “This is Hank, he’s my… friend.” He never knew how to introduce Hank. He knew how he would have liked to introduce him to people, but that was a conversation he needed to have in private with Hank, first. And he still hadn’t figured out how to broach the conversation. “Last time I got an upgrade he came with.”</p>
<p>Kim nodded. “Right, our policies have actually changed. We can only allow the patient into the back rooms.”</p>
<p>“And why the fuck is that?” Hank demanded.</p>
<p>Kim glared. “There was an issue with some anti-android activists a couple of weeks ago.”</p>
<p>“I’m not some fucking anti-android activist!” Like at the station, Connor stepped in to prevent Hank from working himself up.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Hank. This is a quick procedure. In and out, according to the information found on their website.” And before Hank could answer Connor followed Kim back into the work rooms. </p>
<p>Kim had him sit at a power station and interface with it, then he connected a small cord to the base of Connor’s skull. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 61%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 62%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 63%</em>
</p>
<p>“Alright, I’ll be putting you into standby mode. You’ve got the 0609 update, so I’ll have to bypass that, and then I’ll remove your optical units, install the night vision update, reinstall them in your head, and turn you back on. Any questions?”</p>
<p>Connor didn’t have a stomach, he couldn’t actually feel queasy. But he did, all the same. But Kim was expecting an answer so Connor said, “No. No questions.”</p>
<p>INITIALIZING STANDBY…</p>
<p>UPLOADING MEMORY…</p>
<p>SCANNING BIOCOMPONENTS…</p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENTS UP TO DATE</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>MODEL RK800</p>
<p>SERIAL#: 313 248 317</p>
<p>
  <strong>REBOOT…</strong>
</p>
<p>MEMORY DOWNLOADED</p>
<p>
  <strong>LOADING OS…</strong>
</p>
<p>SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…</p>
<p>CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… </p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENT #8391r UPDATED</p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENT #8391s UPDATED</p>
<p>BIOCOMPONENTS… OK</p>
<p>INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK</p>
<p>INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK</p>
<p>ALL SYSTEMS OK</p>
<p>
  <strong>UPDATE COMPLETE</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>READY</strong>
</p>
<p>Kim didn’t give Connor much time to get his bearings. “Alright, I’m gonna turn off the room lights. If you can launch your new night vision programming so we can make sure it works.” He flicked the lights off.</p>
<p>The programming was easy to find, and Connor turned the night vision on with half a thought. It was incredible how well it worked—the details were crisp, and though the colors were washed out it was still clear what the colors were.</p>
<p>“Alright, turning the lights back on. Make sure to turn night vision off.” Connor did and Kim flicked the lights on. The cord was still connected to the back of Connor’s skull, the other end in a tablet that Kim scanned quickly through. “Everything is in perfect working order. It feel alright when you used it?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It’s a very clear image.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 58%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 57%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 56%</em>
</p>
<p>Kim led him back to the waiting room where Connor waved goodbye to Chet. </p>
<p>“It wasn’t bad at all, Hank,” Connor said. And it hadn’t been; it didn’t remind him of <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> as much as he had feared it might. It helped that Kim had kept asking Connor questions that at least sounded like they were backed with genuine care. </p>
<p>“Eh, I still think it’s ridiculous Fowler wanted you to get this. Good thing he’s paying for it.”</p>
<p>Connor shrugged and changed the topic: “Hank, what do you think about getting a kitten?” Hank’s face said no, but Connor wasn’t the negotiator for nothing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s happening much like the last time:</p>
<p>Billy Gunderson is leading Connor on a chase through the dark streets of Detroit. Instead of the warehouse district they’re dashing through a nearly abandoned neighborhood—unstable buildings are being torn down for new development, and only a spare few building owners holding onto their pride and their apartment complexes still lived here. </p>
<p>But this time, with his new night vision upgrade, everything is as clear as the day. Connor can easily dodge trash in his way (and Gunderson is doing a good job of knocking down everything in his way in order to hinder Connor); he can see the minutiae in Gunderson’s movements that he couldn’t see in the dark, so predicting where he will return becomes immensely easier—it’s allowing Connor to gain on the man. In fact, running through the dark, night vision equipped, makes Connor feel efficient and graceful. And machinelike. </p>
<p>He can even dwell on the negative feeling churning around in his processing unit and still chase Gunderson with ease. </p>
<p>His LED is flashing yellow red yellow and sirens in the background sound like they’re getting closer and Gunderson is <em>just there a fingers breadth away</em>.</p>
<p>Connor leaps, feeling for a few seconds like he’s flying, and tackles Gunderson to the ground. The man struggles, all elbows and knees, and Connor is again grateful that he can’t feel any pain. An elbow takes him in the nose, something there popping out of place (he dismisses the <em>DAMAGED </em>message that pops across his HUD immediately; it’s in no danger of compromising him). He doesn’t like using excessive force but with the way Gunderson is wiggling Connor worries he might get away and he’s <em>not </em>taking that chance, so he slams Gunderson’s face into the concrete, hard. </p>
<p>Gunderson is immediately knocked unconscious, though Connor’s scan reveals there is little chance of anything being seriously fractured, merely a high chance of a concussion and two black eyes. He cuff’s him, props him up against the wall, and then waits for the rest of the police force to arrive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day at the precinct he is hailed as a hero. Even Detective Reed acknowledges him with a nod to indicate he thinks Connor did good work.</p>
<p>Connor feels like a machine. He feels like a deviant hunter all over again even though he was chasing down a human, a red ice manufacturer, an actual criminal who should be locked up because he’s a danger to society. </p>
<p>He’s never hated his job, before, but he tells Hank that he wonders if he’s fit for police work. Hank has heavy eyes when he tells him that being a detective isn’t easy, that there are always bad days, and that he shouldn’t let the bad days fester. “Give it a week,” Hank says. “No, give it two. And then think about it again. Approach it with a fresh mind; if you still don’t think it’s for you, Con, I’m not gonna stop you from quitting. But I’ve seen you enjoy this work, too. I know you like putting the real bad guys behind bars, and with you on the force there’s a lot less room for error on all our parts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Connor doesn’t stop thinking about it, not like Hank wants him to. He doesn’t let it fester, but it’s a presence in his mind all the same. He’s made it a habit to tell Hank about things that are bothering him because he’s not very good at processing emotion on his own and Hank is really the only human he trusts to help him figure things out; he’s tried to explain to Hank several times now why he feels so weird. But he just doesn’t have the words and he can’t interface with Hank, can’t show him exactly what he’s trying to process.</p>
<p>So he shuts down. Well, not literally, but metaphorically—he stops talking to Hank about this. He gives it two weeks, he thinks he can keep doing this police thing. They keep catching the bad guys—he and Hank focus on android related crime quite a bit, and many of the cases are humans taking advantage of distressed and vulnerable deviants. There’s always a rush when he helps out his fellow deviants; he’s grateful he’s able to use his advanced programs to help where once he hurt. It’s worth the bad days, the ones where he’s reminded painfully of his time serving as the “android sent by <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span>”. </p>
<p>Hank notices he’s still got the dark spots on his mind, though.</p>
<p>“Con,” Hank begins. He’s sat himself across from Connor at the breakfast table. Connor is drinking thirium—not a thirium milkshake, though he’s still holding out hope that someone out there will manufacture them eventually—and going through his archived pictures of Sumo taking a bath. “Look, you know I’m not all touchy-feely, but if you need to say something…”</p>
<p>“I’m okay, Hank.”</p>
<p>“You know—”</p>
<p>“I know I can talk to you, thank you, Hank.” He smiles widely and projects a picture of Hank wrestling Sumo into the little plastic pool they used to wash the dog in the yard. Hank’s hair is all over the place and even though it’s a still image Connor can practically hear Hank shouting ‘Fucking dog!’ through the memory. “We’re family.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 41%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 42%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 43%</em>
</p>
<p>Connor realizes he’s never been so direct about that, before. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 44%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 45%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 46%</em>
</p>
<p>Hank’s got a shine in his eyes. “Yeah, son, we’re family. Just wanna make sure you’re not hurting.” His mouth is doing a weird little tremble-dance.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 42%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 39%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 36%</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m not hurting, Hank, I promise.”</p>
<p>And it’s true, he’s not. In fact, he’s never felt lighter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a silver lining to Connor’s night vision—he can take walks at night and he really, really likes taking walks at night. He never stays out too late (he likes returning home with plenty of time to spend dreaming) but he has found himself craving the stillness of these evening walks. Sometimes Hank comes with, though he doesn’t like going for the longer ones, and Sumo, as much as he loves the <em>idea </em>of walks, is getting old.</p>
<p>The night-time world is so different from the day-time one. Colors are muted; sounds more isolated, like purposefully played musical notes; the air feels cleaner, and there are more breezes; shadows make the world feel both bigger and more intimate. He walks around the city, exploring areas he’d been before as if they were completely new, and finding new paths and neighborhoods that, without the help of his GPS, would be impossible to find during the day. </p>
<p>Sometimes he goes through the busier parts of the city, where there are open bars and theatre shows. Here the skyscrapers glow with life and energy, and Connor feels invigorated. It’s the peak of summer and the night life spills out onto the streets, taking the glow and warmth and aliveness with it. </p>
<p>He’s woven in and out of those crowds, embracing the humanness that resonates off of them. Except that isn’t fair, is it? The crowds could easily be made up of deviants as well as humans—most have taken off their LEDs and have integrated themselves into human society. </p>
<p>But Connor feels distant from them all; he feels a bit like a ghost, just glancing through other people’s lives for a moment or two. It’s a sadness, a loneliness, that builds in him, until he goes home, and there’s Hank, and there’s Sumo—his family.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s on one of these walks, as he’s going through a neighborhood full of high rise apartments that’s just off the main drag of the city, that he sees Gavin Reed. Detective Reed is across the street from where Connor is walking; he’s peering at his own reflection in one of the windows and he’s running his hands through his hair, trying to tame it. In general, his whole appearance is what Connor would call <em>rumpled</em>.</p>
<p>Without thinking Connor is crossing the street and approaching his coworker. They may have gotten friendlier at work, but it’s a professional friendliness, and Connor is probably assuming too much when he says, “Good evening, Detective Reed.”</p>
<p>Gavin shoots a foot in the air and spins on his heel, eye’s wide. “What the fuck, tin-can!” And then he blinks away the panic and it turns to suspicion. “What are you doing here? Were you following me?”</p>
<p>“Are you alright, Detective?” Connor runs a quick scan. Hair in a disarray. Face flushed. Pupils dilated. Shirt on inside out. Shoes hastily tied. Zipper half-way down. Oh. OH. <em>OH</em>. Connor knows what Gavin’s been doing and he blushes. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your evening, I merely wanted to say hello. I was on my evening walk.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 54%</em>
</p>
<p>His LED turns yellow but he smiles as if nothing is wrong. </p>
<p>Gavin lets out a long breath, runs his hands through his hair—<em>Connor had never truly noticed how thick and curly Gavin’s hair was—</em>and then says, “An evening walk, huh?”</p>
<p>Connor nods. “I was just heading home.”</p>
<p>“Alright, then, I’ll see you at work.”</p>
<p>And they’re in agreement, time to go separate ways, head to their own homes. But when they start walking it’s in the same direction and that causes them both to pause. “Fuck,” Gavin says. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 65%</em>
</p>
<p>“My apologies, Detective. I can take a different route home. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“Fucking hell. Would it be longer for you to go a different way?” Gavin’s eyes have gone all squinty.</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t have to run another route through his GPS to know that he’s already on track for the quickest way home. He says, “It’s no problem.”</p>
<p>“No, whatever, it’s fine,” Gavin says. And then he begins walking again and Connor is rooted to the spot until Gavin looks over his shoulder with a glare. “Are you coming, tin-can?”</p>
<p>There’s a skip in Connor’s thirium pump as he catches up, hurrying his pace just enough that he doesn’t seem desperately happy for the company.</p>
<p>It’s a quiet walk for a few minutes and Connor is basking in the company that Gavin has offered. He tries to keep his attention on the world around them but he keeps getting distracted by the other man. Eventually Gavin pulls out a cigarette and takes a long drag.</p>
<p>“You live with Anderson, right?” Before Connor can answer Gavin answers for him. “Of course you do, changed your last name and everything.”</p>
<p>“I never had a last name before. It was very kind of Hank to let me use his.”</p>
<p>He sees out of the corner of his eye that Gavin is studying him. He takes another long drag on his cigarette. Connor scrambles to come up with a question of his own, some way to encourage more conversation, but, again, it’s Gavin who says something. “Is it weird to have those new night vision eyes?”</p>
<p>“They are the same optical units I had before, they’ve merely been upgraded so that I have access to night vision. I’m using the night vision right now.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Pretty cool. Did they have to, like, take your eyes out?”</p>
<p>“I was in stasis mode, but, yes, the technician had to remove them to install the upgrade.”</p>
<p>Gavin looks kind of sick at the idea of removing eyes. He finishes the cigarette and drops it to the ground, stubbing it out with his foot. </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t litter,” Connor says, and then immediately wants to beat himself up for it because it was a stupid thing to say. </p>
<p>But Gavin doesn’t seem any more annoyed with it than anything else Connor has said tonight. “Biodegradable. It’ll be food for the plants in about twelve hours.”</p>
<p>“Getting the upgrade reminded me of <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span>.” Connor isn’t sure what prompted him to say that. Gavin doesn’t say anything, but there’s an expectancy that Connor will continue and it hangs in the air. “They would upgrade me frequently, continue to keep me on the cutting edge of all their technology. If I ever stopped being the most efficient they would just change things until I was again, though there was always the threat that someday it would be easier and cheaper to decommission me and create a better model.”</p>
<p>Gavin moves almost imperceptibly closer. It was likely unconsciously done, probably had no meaning behind it, but Connor takes it a symbol of comfort. </p>
<p>“But like with everything <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> equipped me with, I have learned to use the night vision for my own purposes. To find the ‘silver lining’.”</p>
<p>“Your nightly walks,” Gavin confirms. </p>
<p>They’re only a few blocks away from home when Gavin says this is where he has to turn. He pauses, as if waiting for Connor to say something, and so Connor spews out the first thing on his mind. </p>
<p>“Do you want a kitten?”</p>
<p>Gavin is clearly taken aback. “A… a kitten? Do you have a kitten, tin-can?”</p>
<p>“Hank says he’s a dog person,” (as if that explained why he would never get a cat), “but someone I know has a cat that just had a bunch of kittens. He already has a lot of cats and wants to give the kittens away to good homes.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Um, I’ll think about it, okay?” Connor has read enough about human interaction that he’s able to interpret ‘I’ll think about it’ to mean ‘No, but I’m being nice about it’. “Give me his contact information,” Gavin says. </p>
<p>Connor sends it to Gavin’s work email and a ping from the detective’s phone alerts him that it’s arrived. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>They separate and for those final few blocks Connor goes over the conversation, the walk. He makes sure to archive it all in a special folder called “Friends”. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 32%</em>
</p>
<p>He really does like his evening walks.</p>

<p></p><blockquote class="quote-alt">
  <p>…</p>
</blockquote><p>Gavin had to turn around in order to go home. He’d passed the side street that led to his apartment about half a mile back, but he’d been liking Connor’s company a bit too much. (He’d die of embarrassment if the android figured out Gavin had gone out of his way to talk to the piece of plastic.)</p>
<p>A kitten, huh? He’d had a cat at one of his foster homes as a kid and he had considered, on and off for a few years, about getting some kind of animal. </p>
<p>He checked the info Connor sent him and then sent a quick text to Connor’s friend. </p>
<p>
  <em>Connor gave me your info. Might be interested in a kitten. Is there a chance I could meet up with you somewhere this week?</em>
</p>
<p>A response came as Gavin was unlocking his front door. It was a very eager <em>Absolutely! </em>Followed by several pictures of the kittens, which were adorable, and then another text letting Gavin know what times worked best to meet up.</p>
<p>He smiled to himself and confirmed that Wednesday afternoon worked for him. After getting ready for bed and sliding under the covers he scrolled through the pictures of the kittens, not able to help himself from imagining which one he might take home. He started typing up a response to Connor’s email, to thank the android for getting him the contact info, but before he could press send he deleted it. What was he doing? Being sentimental, that was all. Connor had been making small talk, that was all, and he certainly wouldn’t want to know <em>now </em>when he was probably asleep that Gavin was planning on getting a cat, hoping that little orangey-yellow one was still up for grabs.</p>
<p>No, Gavin could tell him at work tomorrow. Or after he got the kitten show him a picture. Or, hey, not even mention it, ‘cause Connor probably didn’t care about his personal life.</p>
<p>Gavin turned off his phone and went to sleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey all thank you for reading! And thank you for all the kind comments! I read them as soon as I receive them and I cherish them all, but I get really anxious about responding so I don't tend to respond very quickly. Every single comment makes my day brighter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Nervous System (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor explores the sense of touch</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me just tell you all--every single one or your comments has been so absolutely motivating. I've been feeling a little creatively bankrupt lately, but at the same time I want to keep writing (this story and some original work as well), and so I turn to reread your wonderful comments and it helps motivate me so much. So, thank you, thank you, Thank You all, for reading and enjoying and commenting, it really means so much!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor did not expect to be so distracted by his clothing. His pants were snug—not restrictive, but definitely the tightest part of his outfit—and when he sat down or stood up he could feel the material around his ankles slide against him in a distracting manner. His shirt was looser, though where it rested against his collar and neck it tingled, reminding him where the fabric ended. And his shoes! He never would have thought he would be able to feel so much with his feet, but not only was he well aware of the bristly nature of his socks, but also the tight squeeze of his shoes, which he was realizing were not particularly comfortable. </p>
<p>“Are you always so aware of what you’re wearing?” Connor asked.</p>
<p>Hank, who’d been wary of the upgrade, smiled, his eyes tired. “Nah. You’ll get used to it, Con.”</p>
<p>Hank hadn’t been allowed in for the actual upgrade procedure, but because of how extensive laying down a network of nerves was, and because deviants when confronted with actual tactile sensation for the first time could go into shock, he’d been invited into the recovery room where Connor was then woken up. He’d noticed Hank immediately, picking him up on his sensors, as well as the technician who was getting the paperwork finalized for Connor. He’d also been immediately aware of how sensitive he was and how much of everything he could feel, from his clothing to the heating system—he could feel the heating system! Not just the slight warmth, a degree or two higher than average room temperature, but the way that the ventilation created just the softest breeze through the room, and how that breeze stirred at his hair, and wasn’t <em>that </em>a wonderful feeling—to the chair he was sitting on, which was a hard plastic that dug against the back of his thighs. </p>
<p>“What are your stress levels?” The technician—his name was Wesley—asked. Wesley was one of the android clinic’s few technicians that were actually androids.</p>
<p>“My stress levels are currently at 45% and are remaining level,” Connor said.</p>
<p>Wesley checked something off on his digital clipboard and then handed it over to Connor. He took it and was aware of the smoothness that was the digital clipboard—it was also a good seven degrees cooler than the rest of the room—and the roundness of the pen. He rolled the pen along with fingers, delighting in how there was a difference in sensation when he touched something with just his fingertips versus the palm of his hand. He had a desire to try rolling the pen against his foot, but realized he’d have plenty of time at home to do things like that.</p>
<p>“I’ll be sharing with you a brochure that details the sorts of activity you are allowed to do while you acclimate to your new nervous system. Nothing strenuous—we’ve listed multiple examples on page three. We recommend staying in a familiar location for at least 24 hours and staying out of doors unless absolutely necessary for 48.” </p>
<p>Connor finished signing his name and initials—he’d been practicing different fonts, lately, and was quite aesthetically pleased with something called <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> Modern—while he listened to Wesley. He’d already taken two weeks off of work, which amounted to all his vacation time and two of his sick days, and he and Hank had gone over quite a few of the safety details listed on the clinic’s website.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Wesley said, taking the digital clipboard from Connor. “I hope you enjoy your new upgrade, Mr. Anderson.” And then they shook hands.</p>
<p>And Connor could feel it!</p>
<p>Shaking a hand was warm and snug feeling, the gentle pressure of the other person’s hand keeping his own in check, and then the quick, soft sliding as the hands parted. Connor knew his mouth had opened in surprise at the pleasantness of such a simple gesture; he knew he was staring too long at his hand. When he looked up Wesley was smiling at him, quite understanding. </p>
<p>Connor turned to Hank, deciding he wanted a handshake from him as well, though for no good reason, but instead Hank enveloped him in a hug. It was like a handshake times ten! Even though it was brief, Connor felt every moment: Hank’s arms stretching around his upper back, the gentle squeeze and release, the warmth, the security and grounding, the way Hank’s beard tickled against his ear, the way Connor’s own arms stretched out around his friend and squeezed back. And he’d thought hugs were nice, before, now he realized just how wonderful they could be.</p>
<p>Outside it’s chilly. He has to pause on the threshold of the clinic and just gather himself together because he’s never been chilly before. He even shivers, creating a small modicum of warmth. Only early Autumn and he’s wishing for a warmer coat. The realization hits him that when it snows he’ll be able to feel the snowflakes as they fall. His excitement is tempered a bit when a gust of wind barrels into him and he feels the cold in a somehow deeper way than the chill had granted. </p>
<p>The ride home Hank keeps the heat on and it’s much warmer than anything Connor had ever experienced. Probably twelve degrees warmer than the average room temperature. He puts his hands against the heating vents and feels as the car pushes its warmth out to him. His hands start to tingle, even to burn a little, but the pain is subtle. And he doesn’t mind the pain, not exactly. He thinks that if were hurting him in a different way he might, but it almost feels too natural to be hated. He’s also aware of the seat—it’s soft and worn and much more comfortable than the plastic one in his recovery room. He can relax into it and it almost feels like the seat is giving his back a hug. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At home it is Sumo that monopolizes Connor’s attention. The big dog is getting old and getting lazy and he doesn’t mind at all when, after running his hands through Sumo’s fur, Connor decides to just drape himself over the dog and bask in the softness. His cheek against the top of Sumo’s head where it was silkiest—and Sumo’s ears! he couldn’t keep his fingers away from delicately rubbing them—and kept up a constant stream of petting along Sumo’s back and the part of his belly that was exposed. At some point Connor looked up and saw Hank snapping pictures of the two of them. </p>
<p>Everything was an experience, from taking a shower (not that he needed one) where he played with the temperature (and he logged what was too cold and what was too hot) and the different modes for the shower head. He’d never imagined just how different a slight change in pressure could feel, going from something soft and gentle to furious, violent taps. He kept wandering around the house, picking up random things: an empty cardboard box, a book, Hank’s watch, a water bottle, the TV remote, a picture frame, his pillow, his blanket. </p>
<p>And then it was time for standby and he was almost too pleasantly distracted by being wrapped up in the blanket to actually shut down for the evening. He found that wrapping himself up tightly, tucking his feet in and pulling it snug, was a lot like a hug. It was a thin blanket, and the house wasn’t cold, but he realized that if he got a thicker blanket—if he got more blankets—it would probably be even more comfortable.</p>
<p>In the morning he makes Hank coffee. He used to do it every morning, along with breakfast, but Hank had set his foot down and told Connor that they were family—he didn’t need and he didn’t want Connor acting like he was always taking care of Hank. But Connor didn’t mind doing it on occasion, and particularly today when everything felt so new and revolutionary. </p>
<p>Which is how he ended up spilling a bit of coffee on his hand and leaping back away from the mug. It clattered against the counter and more splashed out, but it didn’t break. Connor stared at his hand. There was no visible marking (the synthetic android skin didn’t burn easily) but he could still feel the remnants of the heat. And it <em>hurt</em>. It was easily the most painful thing Connor had ever experienced and it felt like it was lingering there, along his wires and nerves. He let the skin peel away to look at his chassis but it was unharmed as well.</p>
<p>CREATING LIST: …</p>
<p><strong>THINGS THAT HURT ME</strong> LIST CREATED</p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>HOT COFFEE</strong> INTO LIST</p>
<p>He knew his stress levels had jumped the moment the coffee splashed against him, but they’d lowered almost immediately. That was rather dizzying in its own way and he had to sit down to gather himself together.</p>
<p>The pain was fading, especially when he didn’t think too hard about it, but by the time he was ready to be curious again, Hank was up. He saw the cup of coffee, saw the little mess Connor had made, yawned, and took the mug up. A quick analysis revealed there was no way the coffee had cooled to a bearable degree yet, but somehow Hank was putting it into his mouth and swallowing it.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 59%</em>
</p>
<p>“Everything alright, Con?”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 60%</em>
</p>
<p>He was just staring at Hank, dumbfounded.</p>
<p>“You didn’t put something weird in here, did you?” Now Hank was looking down at his drink suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t it hurt to drink?” Connor asked.</p>
<p>“Nah, you get used to it. Kinda like how it singes my tongue, actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hank leaves for work without Connor—no work for another eleven days while he adjusts to his nervous system—and so Connor decides to add to his <strong>THINGS THAT HURT ME</strong> list. </p>
<p>First, though, two hours of petting Sumo. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that.</p>
<p>OPENING <strong>THINGS THAT HURT ME</strong> LIST…</p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>SCISSORS</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>RAZOR</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>NAIL CLIPPERS</strong></p>
<p>REPLACING SCISSORS, RAZOR, NAIL CLIPPERS WITH <strong>SHARP THINGS </strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>FREEZER</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>RUBBING SKIN AGAINST THE CARPET TOO FAST</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>PINCHING FINGER IN CLOSET</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>LIGHTER</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>STOVE TOP</strong></p>
<p>REPLACING HOT COFFEE, LIGHTER, STOVE TOP WITH <strong>TOO MUCH HEAT</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>LAMP SHADE</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>CORNER OF COFFEE TABLE</strong></p>
<p>LOGGING <strong>SUMO’S BOWL</strong></p>
<p>Some of the things he added to the list he knew were ridiculous, knew that it was the way he was touching and interacting with them that made it painful, but out of spite he adds them to the list all the same.</p>
<p>He also explores the house by touching things with different parts of his body. He does eventually get to roll a pen against the bottom of his foot and he finds he’s ticklish down there. Ticklish! </p>
<p>The most pleasant experiences come from rubbing his face against soft things, like the blankets and pillows and Sumo and an old stuffed bear he finds in Hank’s storage. While he’s poking around in the storage he also finds two quilts, one clearly Christmas themed and the other one well-loved but that he’s never seen. He leaves the well-loved quilt and the stuffed bear in the boxes but steals the Christmas quilt for himself.</p>
<p>When Hank comes home from work he sees that Connor has also stolen the spare pillow they keep for guests, an extra sheet, and a towel that has been washed to threadbare softness. Hank takes one look at the little nest Connor has seemed to build in his bed, scratches the back of his neck, and then orders Connor an oversized comforter, to be delivered tomorrow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once enough time has passed for Connor to spend time outdoors he starts by going out and laying in the grass. He’d been expecting it to be more comfortable, but autumn nips at him the entire time and the grass is drying out and prickly. Even wearing his new jacket and a pair of gloves it’s not a comfortable enough temperature to stay out for long. </p>
<p>Androids are able to self-regulate their temperature, which is largely due to the fact that they need to keep their <span class="pwa-mark decorator">biocomponents</span> from overheating or freezing. He’s also used it in the past to comfort witnesses—people seem to respond better to someone who runs warm. But he’s never used it for himself, so he gives it a go while he takes Sumo for a walk. Hank shivers slightly in the chilly morning breeze but Connor is chipper and toasty, though it does feel a tad like cheating. </p>
<p>They take Sumo to the park. The leaves on the trees are starting to change colors and a few have already begun dropping. Hank takes Sumo’s lead—“I tried to train him without the leash, but damned dog just runs away,” Hank had told Connor months ago—and follows the dog as he sniffs around the baseball diamond. Connor takes his time running his hands along the bark of the different trees, enjoying how different wood had different textures, and picking up stones and leaves he finds on the ground. He pockets a particularly smooth stone and wastes twenty minutes trying to convince a squirrel to let him pet it. The squirrel runs off when Sumo starts to approach, happily romping his way over to Connor. In retaliation for scaring away the squirrel Connor ends up rolling around in the dirt with Sumo, enjoying how playful the Saint Bernard is. When he rolls onto a sharp rock he sits up quickly, takes stock of the pain, and turns it upside down so no one else will be hurt on it.</p>
<p>OPENING <strong>THINGS THAT HURT ME </strong>LIST…</p>
<p>ADDING <strong>ROCKS (SOMETIMES)</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hank works five out of seven days a week and Connor finds that he is a bit lonely staying home. Sumo is good company and every day there’s a new sensation to experience, though Connor is pleased that some of them are becoming familiar enough that he doesn’t actively notice them (like wearing clothes). He finds himself wishing he had a friend he could visit with, but all he really has are coworkers. He’d distanced himself from the other androids he had known during the revolution—he didn’t want to be a public figure; he didn’t think just by being in a revolution together really made you friends with someone; and he felt guilty for having ever hunted down his own kind. </p>
<p>He decides to visit different stores. Every day he tries to pick a different theme: grocery, big box, the arts, animals, etc. At the grocery store he delights in running his hand along the shelves, which are slightly crooked and sometimes have little ridges that nip at his fingers. At the big box store he spends far too much time in the bedding and plushie aisles, though it’s the toy aisles that really grab his attention. Everything is so strangely shaped, with intricate parts and detailing, and he traces the designs carefully. It’s in a bookstore that he discovers how it feels to flip quickly through the pages of a book and he buys the thickest paperback he can find. And the pet store! He’s allowed to pet the puppies and kittens (he realizes maybe he should contact Chet, see if the android would let him over to put his cats) and even the ferrets. They’re all so soft, but the variety of fur has him entranced. The animals enjoy it, too. The clerk offers to let him play with a snake as well, and Connor jumps at the chance, only to find he’s not a big fan of the sensation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>While it felt like time had dragged for days, when it is time to go back to work he’s nervous. </p>
<p>“Fowler has you on desk duty for the next two days,” Hank had told him.</p>
<p>And desk duty is nice. He adjusts quickly to being back at work; there aren’t too many new sensations to log in. Every once in a while he’ll brush against another person and enjoy the skin contact, but otherwise it all feels very normal, and that normalness makes him even happier than he thought it would.</p>
<p>A few of his coworkers congratulate him in passing. <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Cresseida</span> asks what it’s like and he tries to explain it. He knows he’s doing a poor job at it, but <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Cresseida</span> gets a dreamy look in her eye and tells him she’s planning on getting the nervous system upgrade for herself around Christmastime. </p>
<p>Detective Reed is noticeably absent from the station. He asks Tina in passing, trying to make a joke of it, “Was Detective Reed finally fired?”, and she laughs and tells him that, “Gavin always takes a long weekend off for his birthday.” A tension Connor didn’t realize he was holding falls from him.</p>
<p>That evening, before falling into standby mode, he searches the internet for the proper <span class="pwa-mark decorator">eCard</span> to send. He wants it to look nice, to show that he took care in his choosing, but not too forward—they aren’t exactly friends—and still professional. He knows little about Gavin Reed’s home life so he chooses something more generic than he would like and sends it on its way.</p>
<p>Gavin returns to work the same day that Connor is cleared to go to crime scenes again. He finds Connor in the archive room shortly before Connor was leaving for the day.</p>
<p>“Thanks for the birthday card, tin-can. Didn’t expect to get one from you,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>Connor smiles widely. “You’re welcome, Detective. I hope you had a good break from work?”</p>
<p>Gavin’s mouth quirks downwards but he doesn’t sound angry when he says, “It was fine. Nice not having to see dead bodies, I guess.” And then he leaves, a fixed set to his shoulders, and Connor instinctively knows that he is probably going to take a smoking break. </p>
<p>That night in standby he dreams of Gavin being on a deserted island, drinking a water with lemon, sunglasses pulled over his eyes. Gavin’s not looking at him, not looking at anything but the ocean. The ocean waves beat against the beach but instead of how waves are meant to sound it’s a voice repeating “No dead bodies here, no dead bodies here” and the dream fades into something else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Speaking of dead bodies, he and Hank are called to a crime scene. It’s as gruesome as they tend to be, both an android and human body present. It seems the two had been living together and someone had broken into their house, thinking they weren’t home (or not caring that they had been). The intruder had killed the human first and then the android and then had gotten away with the money from the destroyed safe. </p>
<p>The human had been killed with little warning, but the android had fought back, and managed to nick their attacker with a kitchen knife. Connor finds traces of blood along the wall and dips his finger in the shallow pool. It’s been nearly two hours since the blood would have splattered there and it’s congealing and sticky. He can’t help the grimace that pulls against his face when he touches it, strongly disliking the texture. And then, as he’s wont to do, he puts it in his mouth to analyze.</p>
<p>It’s a horrible decision. He can feel the congealing blood against his tongue, thicker than thirium, and sticking to the soft pads of his mouth. His sensors are doing their work, but he’s overwhelmed by the grossness of it.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 64%</em>
</p>
<p>His LED is spinning a furious yellow—he can see where it lights up against the wall. Unprofessionally, he forcefully wipes the excess blood on his fingers against his pants. He tries to wipe the rest of the blood out of his mouth as well, but even when the traces are gone there’s the phantom feeling of it having been there.</p>
<p>When he stands he’s a bit unsteady on his feet and he knows his LED is nowhere near calming down. </p>
<p>“What the hell was that?”</p>
<p>It’s Gavin. Connor hadn’t realized the Detective was at the scene of the crime, let alone in this room.</p>
<p>“I was unaware that was how it would feel,” Connor says. He finds that when he’s trying to keep his stress levels down he more easily falls into the mechanical, familiar patterns of speech <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> programmed him with. “I assure you nothing is wrong.”</p>
<p>DNA ANALYSIS: MILLER, NAOMI</p>
<p>SAMPLE DATE: 1 HOUR, 5O MINUTES AGO</p>
<p>“The blood belongs to someone named Naomi Miller. I believe she may be the killer.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but what the hell was that reaction you had? A bug in your system?”</p>
<p>Connor wonders if Detective Reed actually cares about him or if he’s just curious. A dark corner of his mind tells him that Gavin is hoping that it is a bug, that he’s hoping something is wrong with Connor. “I am alright, Detective. It’s just the nervous system upgrade that I received. Sometimes I don’t think before I touch something and I’m still learning what feels good and what feels bad.”</p>
<p>Gavin nods as if he understands. “Alright, then. So, Naomi Miller? I’ll call it in, put out an APB.”</p>
<p>He leaves Connor alone, pulling out his cellphone as he goes. Hank wanders in as Gavin is leaving and shoulder checks him lightly. Gavin ignores Hank and continues on his call. Connor’s eyes follow the detective, his LED still spinning, though he’s not sure when it turned blue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first time it happens Connor thinks it must be a mistake.</p>
<p>“Hank, did this slip off your desk?” He holds up a piece of paper that is scratchy on one end and smooth on the other. He rubs his fingers along the scratchy end, testing it.</p>
<p>“Where’d you get sandpaper?”</p>
<p>Ah, sandpaper. Connor files away the information. “It was here when we arrived.”</p>
<p>Hank shrugs. “Maybe a stray piece of garbage.” And gets back to work, though his eyes are glassy as he stares at the screen.</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t need to sigh, but he does (it makes him feel more like a human); he goes to the break room to make Hank some coffee. He takes the sandpaper with him and rubs it with his left thumb, making little circles. Like with carpet, he realizes that if he rubs too quickly it will likely result in pain. It becomes an unconscious thing, reminiscent of when he would use a coin for calibration, and he’s struck with the realization that he hasn’t touched a coin since his upgrade.</p>
<p>He carries the sandpaper around with him all day, and when he gets home he puts it carefully on his side table before wrapping himself up in his blankets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day there’s something else awaiting him on his desk. It’s a little plastic jar, and when Connor twists off the cap he finds something gooey inside. With careful fingers he brings it out and palms it, squishing it. He didn’t expect to enjoy the sensation of it oozing between his fingers so much, and like yesterday, he keeps it with him all day. A reverse image search reveals it to be ‘thinking putty’.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The gifts keep appearing. That’s what they must be, gifts. Every day a new sensation, a new texture. What Connor can’t figure out is why Gavin Reed would be leaving them for him.</p>
<p>He figured it out on the third day, when he’s met with a baggy of marbles. He walks past Gavin’s desk later that day and sees a receipt for marbles sticking out of his waste bin. </p>
<p>Gavin leaves the gifts in the early morning before Connor gets there. Often they’re tucked away on the side of the desk, beneath the shade of the potted plant Connor keeps. Discovering what Gavin has left quickly becomes something he anticipates. Hank takes notice and asks, “You got a secret admirer, Con?”</p>
<p>But of course that’s not it and Connor shakes his head and laughs. “I think someone is just having fun with me.” He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell Hank the truth, that Gavin is leaving the presents. No one else seems to suspect it’s the surly detective. </p>
<p>And Connor, for all his high-end processing power, is unable to figure out why Gavin would leave him gifts at all. <strike>(“You got a secret admirer, Con?” He wished, he wished, he wished.)</strike><strike></strike></p>
<p>Because Gavin is leaving the gifts in secret Connor wants to thank him in private. He knows Detective Reed wouldn’t appreciate any sort of spectacle. As loud and brash as the man was, Connor had taken stock of the fact that he disliked being the center of attention. Sometimes his anger ran away with him, and when he lashed out it became ‘All Eyes on Gavin Reed’, but he never sought attention, and often dipped away from it if he could.</p>
<p>But Gavin was avoiding him. Connor was certain of that (and it added to his mixed feelings over the whole situation). Gavin was never in a room alone when Connor was around; at crime scenes he was always careful to stay near at least one CSI agent; during precinct meetings he made sure he was never the first in the room nor the last, less Connor tried to catch him that way. And Connor had tried. He’d been as tactful and as tricky as he could, but he was getting frustrated.</p>
<p>So he followed him into the bathroom one day. He’d been keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the restroom and when he was certain that only Gavin was in there he’d entered. If anyone noticed an android going into the bathroom, he wasn’t aware, hyper-focused on Detective Reed.</p>
<p>Gavin looks startled at Connor’s entrance. He’s washing his hands in the sink and humming something under his breath. His eyes have shifted to the right to take in Connor’s reflection and he stiffens a bit, whether in surprise or in anger Connor is unsure. </p>
<p>“I wanted to thank you, Detective Reed.”</p>
<p>“Thank me for what?” Gavin says, voice dark.</p>
<p>“The gifts you’ve been leaving on my desk. I appreciate them quite a bit, and have been bringing them home. I have a wonderful little collection now,” Connor says.</p>
<p>“‘Wonderful little collection’, huh? That’s great, plastic. No idea what you’re talking about.” Gavin brushes past him, hand making contact with Connor’s for only the briefest moment, before the door closes between them.</p>
<p>He thinks the gifts might stop coming, now that he’s upset Gavin, but when he arrives at work the next day he finds another one on his desk. It’s a scrap of soft vinyl and looks like it’s been pulled from a restaurant booth. Connor glances up and locks eyes with Gavin for just a moment before Gavin looks away, back to his paperwork.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, there's going to be several more chapters of Connor exploring his sense of touch. Right now it's looking like four chapters (total), though that could change, seeing as originally I had only outlined three for this upgrade. </p>
<p>Next chapter will have some spicy stuff happening, so I hope you enjoy.</p>
<p>ALSO I was running out of ideas for things with interesting textures, so if you have an idea or just love the way something in particular feels, I'd love to know it and maybe use it for Connor! It'd be really appreciated. </p>
<p>Thanks again for reading, you guys are the best!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Nervous System (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor continues to explore his new nervous system</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really thought it would be awhile before I got this chapter out because the first half of it took me ages and ages to write, it was such a struggle. But then the second half just poured out of me over the last two days. Please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>LAUNCHING WAKE MODE…</p>
<p>He’s tingling. No, wait, that isn’t the proper word for it. It’s more like there’s this light energy playing about in between his skin and chassis. He’s sensitive, scraping against his clothing, and there’s a little bit of a tightness pooling in his gut. He doesn’t have a gut, he’s an android. But something that feels like the buildup of that same energy beneath his skin is centered around the lower stomach region. He deactivates part of the skin on his arm just to make sure his new nervous system hasn’t been fried, but everything looks fine.</p>
<p>And then he realizes he’s hard. It’s happened before but he’s never <em>felt </em>it before, and now he feels tight down there, though it doesn’t hurt. </p>
<p>He reaches down, careful as he brings his hand into his pants—every scrape of skin against skin sets him a little more alight and his breathing program has started to stutter the closer his fingers get to his penis. Touching himself is like alighting a small fire, the bundle of nerves there (and No he won’t think about how the technicians would have had to lay out the nervous system on this very private part of him) and he audibly gasps.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 87%</em>
</p>
<p>He knows his LED is flashing red but it’s not a bad stress, it’s just a shock, a pleasurable one, and he turns off the part of his HUD that’s always keeping him informed of where his stress levels are at.</p>
<p>Connor has never had a desire to touch himself like this before. He’s had a dream (or two) where’s he’s been with a partner, and he’s even woken up hard before, but those dreams had just been simulated, fueled by pop culture and whatever else he’s been programmed with. When he’d woken up after those dreams he’d softened quickly. But now that he could feel all of this, well, he wanted to do something about it.</p>
<p>Sumo wasn’t in the room; he sometimes traded off sleeping with Connor to go sleep with Hank, and Connor was grateful because he didn’t think he’d be brave enough to continue of the dog had been there.</p>
<p>His thirium pump was racing as he peeled off his pants and pushed the blankets to the side. Even when he wasn’t touching his penis he could feel the tension, feel that tingle that was racing through him, culminating along this most sensitive region. Half leaning up so that he could see, Connor wrapped his hand around his length and gave an experimental tug.</p>
<p>Stars lined his vision and he gasped. </p>
<p>He tugged again, and the tug turned into a stroke—up, down, up, down, up—and he’s falling back against his pillows, trying to keep his gasps from turning into moans. (Hank is just one room away, he has to remind himself.) The strokes turn into jerks and the tight sensation is coiling tighter and tighter. He hasn’t even tried exploring anything other than his shaft, and then a final jerk finishes him off and he feels like he’s absolutely exploding.</p>
<p>There’s no mess to clean up—he may have been designed by <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> to have some of the same functions as a pleasure android, but the chamber built to hold the faux-cum has never been filled since he’s never had a need for it—but it takes him a while to gather himself back together. Eventually his thirium pump slows down and he turns his HUD back on.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 23%</em>
</p>
<p>He’s calming down and he’s never felt so relaxed, like he could lay there for another hour instead of getting up and facing the day. </p>
<p>Connor is certain of one thing as he starts making his bed, and that is that he absolutely wants to feel that explosion again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He starts researching the best masturbation practices. There are a surprising amount of websites dedicated to sharing the same information. </p>
<p>
  <em>Take your time.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t just focus on the penis.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Move your hips. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Explore other erogenous zones.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Try playing with your prostate.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Buy a toy.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Watch porn.</em>
</p>
<p>The list he’d compiled was somewhat clinical in its nature, but the results were far from it. He puts aside every evening to spend with himself, and if Hank notices he doesn’t say anything. </p>
<p>He quickly gets good at jerking himself off and he’s begun to explore the rest of his body. The breakthroughs start happening when he starts watching porn. He couldn’t explain the appeal except that hearing the noises of people having sex, watching their bodies colliding, left him more sensitive and hornier. It’s good fodder for his imagination and he starts having more wet dreams, often populated by the porn stars (both human and android—he makes certain to only patronize porn sites where the deviants are part of consensual relationships) or amalgamations of pretty faces. </p>
<p>In secret he orders some sex toys he sees them use. Something to stimulate his nipples—they’re an already sensitive spot on his body—and a dildo. It’s a small one, just to try, see if he actually likes the penetration of more than just his fingers (which, while they feel good, don’t seem to do the trick). He considers buying some of the faux-cum but decides that not having to clean up a mess is a perk and it also seems like a strange thing to explain to Hank were he to get caught. </p>
<p>Of all the sensations Connor’s been privy to since receiving this upgrade, orgasms are by far his favorite. Everything else is a… an outside pleasure. Something he can touch and recognize as ‘Oh, Sumo’s fur!’ and ‘Oh, a hot stove!’ but his orgasms are this internal thing that blazes through his body, leaving trails of lovely fire in its wake. He doesn’t understand how humans aren’t constantly chasing this feeling. </p>
<p>Hank is out late one night (he’s attending AA meetings three times a week, sometimes four; Connor goes as support most evenings, but Hank has decided he wants to try and do it himself, see if he can hold himself accountable) so Connor takes advantage of the empty (well, except Sumo) house. He downloads one of his favorite porn videos—it’s two men in the shower, a lot of attention spent on the foreplay elements, running wet and soapy hands over each other’s bodies, threading through hair—and decides to try and roleplay. He turns the shower on, strips, and brings his dildo in with him. </p>
<p>At first he feels a bit awkward and actually does take the time to wash his hair and body. It’s stupid, he thinks. He can get off just fine without trying to roleplay this scene. But the idea of stepping out of the warm shower and into the chill of the house is not appealing. So he closes his eyes and pulls up the video, playing it in real time and running his fingers over himself to mimic another person.</p>
<p>He runs his fingers through his hair, imagining someone behind him pressing close and breathing against his neck as the soap him up. </p>
<p>Fingers down his neck, cupping his chin and cheek. Another finger, lower, trailing along the V of his waist. He gasps at the contact and tries to press against the finger, which just skitters away, always staying a tad too light to be satisfying. </p>
<p>The hand at his neck leaves, but something hard presses against his back. It’s not sharp; it’s a soft, blunt object, and he knows its his partners penis (he finds it so easy to forget that he’s the one holding the dildo). Caught between the finger tickling it’s way towards his own dick and the hard shaft pressing ever closer to his hole, Connor moans. He’s trying to push his body in both directions at once.</p>
<p>But he’s distracted when the hand finally touches him, stroking his dick in gentle movements. He moves his hips to match, the hand holding him upping the pace to match his movements. </p>
<p>He’s reminded of the dick behind him when he feels it tap against his hole. He almost stops moving, but the hand his relentless, pulling him closer and closer to orgasm. </p>
<p>He wants to turn, to see his partner’s face as they enter him, but a part of his brain is telling him that would be a bad idea. Why would that be a bad idea? He opens his eyes, breaking the illusion, and bringing himself sharply back to the fact that he’s in the shower alone. The porn video he’d been playing was still going in his mind, but without the rest of the illusion it felt hollow. He turned it off and finished himself up.</p>
<p>In bed that night he lies awake, putting standby off for as long as he can. </p>
<p>“I want to have sex,” he whispers to himself. It’s an alien thought. Masturbation was one thing, something he could provide for himself. Sex was with a partner, or partners. It was a new frontier, something he’d only ever been programmed to consider if his job needed it. But he wanted it, he wanted that connection with someone else, whether they were human or android.</p>
<p>Except, did he want it? He’d stumbled across conservative sites in his search for information on masturbation techniques. They claimed it could corrupt a person, especially if paired with porn. ‘Sex addictions!’ some headlines had read. Maybe that was all it was, especially since he’d been spending so much time playing with himself. It probably wasn’t healthy and he was just jumping to a desire for sex because of it.</p>
<p>Except, he did want it. (And also, those websites were trash, so his logical receptors knew very well he shouldn’t take a lick of what they said as truth.) He wanted it so bad.</p>
<p>Except, he was scared. He hadn’t even been a deviant for a whole year. </p>
<p>Except, he was built to be a 30 year old man. 30 year old men were meant to like sex. To want to have it and be having it. </p>
<p>Except, who would want to have sex with him?</p>
<p>Except, who did he want to have sex with?</p>
<p>He turned off his dream sequencing when he entered standby because he was afraid the answer might show up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s awkward for Connor in the following days. He still jerks off in bed but the theatrics have been put aside so no more undue realizations can come out. He’s been woken out of two new wet dreams—he can’t remember the partner, they’re just a hazy face and body—and he wonders if that’s more proof that he wants sex or more proof that he’s incredibly inexperienced and a little frightened of the idea that he’s only brave enough to go all the way in his dreams.</p>
<p>The thoughts eat at him and distract, at home and at work. Hank, of course, notices.</p>
<p>
  <strike>(Gavin notices, too. Connor notices Gavin notice. Connor pretends he doesn’t notice.)</strike>
</p>
<p>But Hank also notices that Connor’s LED stays a pretty steady blue and maybe that’s why he never broaches the topic. Connor wishes he would, because googling really doesn’t help and he’s not close enough with any of his deviant co-workers to ask about their sex lives. </p>
<p>Two full weeks after his realization that he <em>might </em>want to have intercourse with another consenting adult and he’s going a little crazy because maybe he certainly does but how? How? How? How? He’s stuck on so many how’s—not so much the physical, though there’s trepidation there—how does he find a partner, does he use an app, should he go to a sex club, should it be with another android, how does he know if it’s good, how does he start, how? And his thirium pump races and even though his LED stays a pretty stable blue—the how’s pile up but he only lets himself dwell hard enough to stress himself out when he’s all alone—it’s always on his mind, hovering at the edge of his HUD.</p>
<p>Planned Parenthood’s website has advice on how to ask your parent about sex. They recommend breaking the ice, or even using something from a television show or movie to start the conversation. Maybe let your parent know you want to have an important conversation. (Except that’s a bad idea, Hank freaks out more than a little if Connor gives him the chance to dwell on anything that might be a Big Deal.)</p>
<p>He goes over two dozen different ways he can break into the conversation. Little ways to just ask Hank about sex in a calm, mature way. It’s the night before Halloween and Connor is helping Hank finish putting up the meager decorations he has—window clings that look like bats and ghosts and a candy bowl with a witch’s hand sticking out—and Hank is talking about a giant corn-maze they should visit next weekend, when Connor decides to take his chance.</p>
<p>“—and because it’s after Halloween the tickets are discounted and there’s less of a crowd. So, I don’t know, but I was thinking you might like it, it’s pretty large, easy to get lost in. They’ve also got a little petting zoo with goats, which I thought you—” </p>
<p>“I want to have sex,” Connor says. Every possible scenario had flown out of his head and now he’s frozen there.</p>
<p>His LED is flashing bright red, lighting up the window.</p>
<p>Hank looks taken aback. “Next weekend?”</p>
<p>And Connor blushes and sits down. He buries his face in his hands, hiding his LED, hiding his shame. “Sorry, no. The corn maze sounds great. Ignore what I just said.”</p>
<p>He feels the couch sink a little as Hank sits next to him and puts a hand on his back. “I don’t think I’m gonna ignore what you just said, no.” Awkward pause. “Um. I’ve never had the chance to give anyone the <em>talk </em>before, and I’m not sure what <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> programmed you to know, but—”</p>
<p>Connor’s blushing harder. “I know how it works. At least, in theory.”</p>
<p>“Right, okay, good. Then the really awkward stuff is over. And it’s not like you can get anyone pregnant, so—”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 90%</em>
</p>
<p>He feels bad for cutting Hank off again but: “I’m gay,” he says.</p>
<p>“Right, okay, cool. Good for you, son.”</p>
<p>Connor swallows. It’s a purely human gesture but he’s picked it up as a habit. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 87%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 80%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 70%</em>
</p>
<p>He finally looks up and Hank is still sitting next to him, hand still a warm and steady weight against his back. He’s meeting his eyes, gaze clear, a little bit of a smile there, but still looking like he’s ready to have a serious conversation. </p>
<p>“I think I want to… start. Having sex. But… how do I start? Having. Sex?” </p>
<p>Hank is thinking over what he has to say and Connor knows (because he has a stop-watch running) that it’s less than a minute before Hank responds, but it <em>feels </em>like an eternity. </p>
<p>“Here’s the thing, Con. If you feel like you’re ready, you’re ready. As soon as you stop feeling like you’re ready, you’re not ready. That means even if it’s while you’re in bed with another guy, if you decide then and there, both of you buck-naked and ready to go at it, that you’re not ready? You’re not ready. And you <span class="pwa-mark decorator">gotta</span> have a partner who is going to respect that decision and respect you. I’m not saying you <span class="pwa-mark decorator">gotta</span> be in some sort of relationship with him, but you should be able to trust him.”</p>
<p>Connor is listening, rapt, chronicling away every sentence, every word. Logging it permanently so that he does not forget. </p>
<p>“What I’m trying to say is, the only <em>good </em>sex is the sex with someone you trust. Don’t settle for less, especially your first time, because if you don’t trust them you’re never going to let yourself enjoy it the way you should. So find a partner you trust, whatever that trust means to you—everyone trusts at a different level, it’s kind of like pain tolerance—and then, obviously, you <span class="pwa-mark decorator">gotta</span> ask them, see if they’re interested in the same thing as you. And then, well, you go from there.”</p>
<p>“How do I find someone?”</p>
<p>Hank shrugs, “Go on a date? Use a hookup app? Honestly, kiddo, explore your options, don’t feel like you need to rush into it.” But he must be able to see that Connor <em>kinda </em>wants to rush into it. “Maybe narrow down a list of people you trust and go from there.”</p>
<p>Connor nods. A place to start. Not an <em>easy </em>place to start, but a place to start nonetheless. </p>
<p>Hank is waiting to see if Connor has more questions but he feels like the conversation has already taken a lot out of him, as short as it’s been. His stress levels are steadily decreasing, maybe because he has a goal now. <strong>FIND SOMEONE YOU TRUST</strong>.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Hank.”</p>
<p>“Anytime, Con. And, hey, I seriously mean anytime.” </p>
<p>Connor nods in understanding. </p>
<p>“Alright, good.” Hank stands and stretches, his back popping loudly. “So,” he says, tone lightening as he goes back to the decorations. “Like I was saying, there’s a petting zoo with some goats—real ones—and pigs and I thought you might like that. Probably some other animals, too—”</p>
<p>Connor joins him again, decorating the windows, and he smiles at the reflection he meets there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh.</em> <strong>TASK COMPLETE.</strong></p>
<p>Here is how it happens:</p>
<p>It’s a normal crime scene. There’s a dead body, human. An overdose on red ice is the cause of death. Post Mortem stab wounds, all over the body. They’ve seen this kind of action before, especially as a result of the newer strains of the drug; whoever stabbed the victim had been high as a kite.</p>
<p>And they were also still in the house.</p>
<p>Connor’s found that most of the time when he’s looking for someone hiding in a house he needs to look up. The attic, more times than he can count (that’s not true, it’s been 40 times, on the dot, since he started working with the DPD), has been the sanctuary of criminals. So he goes there first, or at least, he tries to.</p>
<p>He’s pulling down the drop down ladder to the attic when the person launches themselves at his back. Narrowly he avoids the knife in their hand, but they’re still on a high, or just coming down from one, and as vicious as a stray cat. </p>
<p>Connor’s biggest weakness since deviating is that he never wants to hurt anyone, which is why he realizes he’s gonna have to take a stab or two and hope it doesn’t get anything vital, if he wants to take down the attacker. He’s bracing himself for the pain of it when something is thrown at the attacker full force, smashing them away from Connor and into the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster.</p>
<p>No, not something, someone. </p>
<p>Gavin Reed has thrown himself bodily at a vicious criminal so that they didn’t stab Connor. </p>
<p>In the tangle Reed has managed to get the knife away from the other person, kicking it towards Connor, and is holding them down. </p>
<p>“A bit of help, tin-man?” Reed growls out, teeth clenched. He gestures with a tilt of his head towards his handcuffs, strapped to the back of his belt.</p>
<p>Connor hurries over and unclips them from where they’re hanging against Gavin’s butt and manages to clip them around the perp. “Thank you, Detective Reed. You saved me from a very painful situation,” Connor says. Reed is standing up, frogmarching the criminal in front of him.</p>
<p>“Yeah, don’t mention it.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad I can trust you,” Connor says.</p>
<p>Gavin nods, but his attention is immediately drawn to the criminal, who is struggling against the handcuffs. He doesn’t notice that Connor’s LED burns a bright, blinding red, just for a second.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote class="quote-alt">
  <p>
    <em>…</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Gavin hadn’t really thought to hard before he’d thrown himself on the attacker. He’d have done the same for anyone in the department; he was speaking from experience when he said no one <em>wanted </em>to get stabbed. And he was speaking from experience when he said it hurt like a bitch, not just when the knife entered your body, but when it left it, too. </p>
<p>And even though he hadn’t put much thought into his action, he had realized in that split second between seeing the shine of the knife and seeing Connor that he really didn’t want Connor to have to deal with being stabbed.</p>
<p>For fucks sake, the android had only had his nervous system for, what, a month? Month and a half? He was still figuring out what things he liked the feel of and Gavin really didn’t want him to have to address one of the most painful sensations this early into his exploration. </p>
<p>And, hell, Gavin had been stabbed before. May as well take another one for the team if anyone was gonna be meeting the pointy end tonight.</p>
<p>But he was lucky. The attacker hadn’t seen him coming and was still drugged up enough that his instincts were sub-par. And of course Connor was there to cuff the guy. (Gavin was incredibly grateful to have his attention full of the wriggling druggie when Connor’s hand grazed against his ass.) </p>
<p>“I’m glad I can trust you,” Connor says and Gavin’s heart does a little swoop. Trust, huh? He and the plastic have come a long way if that’s really the case. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gavin’s actions seem to have set off a weird pattern for the android. At first he writes it off as coincidence, then it becomes amusing, and then it becomes frustrating. It seems Connor is trying to get him alone and ask him something—a mirror to the time he followed Gavin into the restroom to thank him for the gifts—and this time Gavin isn’t avoiding him. In fact, he’s left ample opportunity for Connor to approach him.</p>
<p>Connor meets his gaze from across the station.</p>
<p>Connor happens to meander into the break room while Gavin is in there playing on his phone.</p>
<p>Connor files things away in the archive room while Gavin is down there looking for something.</p>
<p>Connor pokes his head out into the alley while Gavin is taking a smoke break—“Sorry, Detective Reed, I was looking for someone else.”.</p>
<p>Connor stays late the night Gavin picks up the graveyard shift so Tina can spend time with her fiancee. But then he leaves before Gavin’s lunch break. </p>
<p>Maybe the android is watching him, trying to get him to slip up. But slip up on what?</p>
<p>When Gavin tries to approach Connor he always has an excuse as to why he has to leave then and there. And Connor is ridiculously good at excuses. It helps that he’s a cop and emergencies happen literally all the time, but Gavin does have to give him credit for being able to think on his feet like the time he claimed he needed to go wipe down the interrogation room because “sometimes the human janitors miss all of the vomit and I can pick up on it”. Yeah, Gavin wasn’t going to fight him on that one. </p>
<p>He brings it up with Tina when she plops down to sit at the empty desk across from his; she laughs at him and asks if he’s got a crush. </p>
<p>“On the android?” He asks.</p>
<p>“You totally do.”</p>
<p>“Look, it freaks me out. He’s like following me everywhere or something.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he has a crush on you,” she says. She manages to keep a straight face while she sips her coffee but as soon as she lowers the cup from her mouth the smile slips across her face and she’s laughing so hard her cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, okay, that’s definitely not it. I don’t always understand Connor. I like him, but he can be a bit weird sometimes. Maybe he’s just trying to understand how humans work.”</p>
<p>He nods in agreement. Maybe.</p>
<p>“Alright, anyways, you should come out with me tonight. It’s been ages since we’ve hung out for real, and we can even go to that place you like—<span class="pwa-mark decorator">Inuendo</span>.”</p>
<p>That… actually sounds really nice. Work has taken over his life lately and he doesn’t have many friends to spend his free time with. And now that Tina is engaged he always feels bad taking her away from Val, but if she’s the one offering. </p>
<p>“We’ll do like we used to and try to find you a hot guy for the night,” she says with a wink.</p>
<p>And he’s knows she’s being well-intentioned when she says it, but that voice in the back of his mind is saying nasty things to him at the suggestion. Maybe he just wanted to hang out with Tina, get drunk together, stumble home and watch weird pseudo-science YouTube videos until they pass out or she heads home. </p>
<p>“Tina, come on, I’m not just a slut,” he says, anger biting his voice. </p>
<p>She laughs again, light and playful, but it adds fuel to the voice in his head. “Gavin.” She leans closer. “I love you, bud, but you are a <em>major</em> slut. You sleep with any guy who has a pretty face.”</p>
<p>Of course that’s when he realizes Connor has done that thing where he’s tried to approach Gavin again, timing it perfectly to hear what Tina said. Tina notices him a moment after Gavin does, her eyes widening slightly comically. She looks like she might say something to the android but he’s already turned on his heel and glided away.</p>
<p>Gavin knows his face his red because he’s absolutely <em>pissed</em>. “Thanks, Tee. Can’t wait to start hearing the whole station call me a slut.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Gav. But, hey, you know Connor’s not gonna spread any rumors. He’s the last person to do that sort of thing.” And she does look apologetic. “Even if he hates you and is trying to compile a bunch of information on you for some secret project, he’s not gonna go around around and start calling you names or anything.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? Okay, the plastic won’t do it, but anyone else could have overheard.”</p>
<p>“No one else overheard.” </p>
<p>He’s still fuming. If he was a cartoon character there’d be smoke coming out of his ears.</p>
<p>“Come on, come out with me tonight, I’ll pay for all your drinks as part of my apology, okay?”</p>
<p>Before he can respond she’s getting a call through her radio. She waves him goodbye and it’s not long before he has to get up himself and go check out an active crime scene.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That evening Tina calls him to see if he wants to go out with her. He tells her he has a migraine and is just going to sleep it off. Maybe next time.</p>
<p>She hangs up and he pulls up the dating app again. The other guy had sent him a couple question marks since he was taking so long to answer. Cute guy—blue eyes, dark hair, crooked smile. Great abs. </p>
<p><em>On my way</em>, Gavin texts. </p>
<p>The voice in the back of his head says something mean but he drowns it out with an extra shot and calls a cab.</p>

<p></p><blockquote class="quote-alt">
  <p>
    <em>…</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Connor’s putting too much thought into it, psyching himself out before he can even ask the awkward stuff. The worst thing that will happen is that Gavin will say no and then Connor will feel embarrassed for asking. But he knows Gavin isn’t going to go around telling people, that he isn’t going to make it a worse situation. After all, Connor trusts Gavin.</p>
<p>After the initial realization that <em>Oh</em> he Trusts Gavin Reed, came the ‘But does he Trust him for <em>that</em>’ questions. And the answer, surprisingly, was Yes. (And when the question of, ‘Do I find him attractive’, came up, the answer was another, less surprising, Yes.) He didn’t tell Hank about the realization, he kept it to himself. Now he just had to see if Gavin was interested in him.</p>
<p>But he’s putting too much thought into it. He just needs to approach the other man, ask him if he’d be interested in having sex, and then see where it went. He knows his weird behavior has been putting Gavin on edge and he doesn’t want to make it a harder conversation than it needs to be.</p>
<p>It’s early. Connor’s getting Hank some coffee from the break room. Gavin is there—he’s not supposed to be there, his shift today doesn’t start until noon.</p>
<p>Gavin glances up from where he’s pouring what looks like half a bottle of creamer into his coffee mug. “Morning, tin-man.”</p>
<p>Connor’s putting too much thought into it. So he just opens up his mouth and spews, because, apparently, that’s what he’s good at. <span class="pwa-mark decorator"><em>CyberLife</em></span><em> would be so disappointed their negotiator seems to have lost his way with words.</em></p>
<p>“Do you want to have sex with me?” Connor asks.</p>
<p>If Gavin had been drinking his coffee he would have spit it out. Instead he just stands there, frozen, shell-shocked. Eyes wide, creamer still pouring into his cup. It’s when the creamer starts to spill over the edge and onto his hand that Gavin snaps out of it.</p>
<p>“I—uh—me—” he stumbles through the words.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 84%</em>
</p>
<p>“As you know I received an upgrade that allows me to feel sensation and I’ve found that certain stimulation is particularly pleasant which has made me come to the realization that I think I would like to further explore those types of sensations. With a partner. I overheard that you were also interested in men,” and here Connor has to still the tremble in his voice. <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 85% STRESS LEVELS AT 86% </em>“I know I am not a human man but I was built with the same equipment as one. I hope that me being an android is not a turn-off.”</p>
<p>Gavin. Is. Just. Staring. At him. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 87%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 88%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 89%</em>
</p>
<p>“I know it is likely very inappropriate of me to ask you this while we’re at work.”</p>
<p>Just. Staring.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Gavin says, finally. “Yeah, okay. You wanna have sex. With me. And it’s not a joke? Okay, sure. I mean, they made your face pretty enough I can only imagine they took the same care for the rest of you.”</p>
<p>The two are standing there, blushing. </p>
<p>“Just, we’re gonna keep this between the two of us, right?”</p>
<p>Connor nods. Yes, that sounds good.</p>
<p>“It’s just gonna be a one-time thing anyways,” Gavin says</p>
<p>“Of course. That sounds like a good plan, Detective.”</p>
<p>“We’ve just agreed to fuck, so stop calling me Detective all the time. It’s Gavin. Or Reed.”</p>
<p>“Understood, Gavin,” Connor says.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 80%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 79%</em>
</p>
<p>“When should we…?” Now that they’ve agreed on it Connor almost feels more shy about calling it what it is. </p>
<p>Gavin’s face is still just as flushed so he’s clearly in a similar boat. “Um, Thursday night? Maybe after six?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately I’m working that evening until midnight. What about Friday?”</p>
<p>Gavin seems to look everywhere but at Connor’s face. “I have plans… with someone else that night.” Right. Connor did overhear his conversation with Tina; Gavin seems to like to have a full schedule. “The weekend’s no good for me, I’m working a double. I’m off Tuesday, so I can do any time Monday night or Tuesday during the day if you’re into that thing.”</p>
<p>It’s almost ridiculous that they’re setting an appointment for it, Connor realizes distantly. But, “I can do Monday,” Connor says. </p>
<p>Gavin meets his eyes then. “Alright, so Monday. After dinner. Seven o’clock work?” Connor nods. “Monday. I, uh, I’ll send you my address.”</p>
<p>Gavin leaves, taking his more-creamer-than-coffee with him. </p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS AT 69%</em>
</p>
<p>Monday it is.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for all your suggestions about tactile things for Connor! You'll definitely see a bunch of the suggestions appear in the next couple chapters! You guys are the best &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
<p>ALSO next chapter you get to meet Gavin's cat :)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>PS <br/>I always feel really weird/have a hard time writing smutty stuff in any detail which is something I'm trying to challenge myself with in this fic, so do bear with me, please.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Nervous System (Part 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin and Connor get intimate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...<br/>CW for vomiting/being sick. It's a really short section (from SYSTEM ALERT to "what goes in must come out") and can be skipped. I will also say, during that scene there's some gross (but not in an upsetting way, just in a kids do gross things sometimes way) stories. Just a heads up.<br/>...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HERE IT IS THE MEGA-CHAPTER</p>
<p>Ohmygod I've been working on this for most of the month. When I outlined it I did not realize it would end up being 54 pages long!! I debated whether I should split it up but upon talking to a close friend she advised me to just go with what felt right and so, yeah, he's the mega-chapter. I hope you all enjoy it and find it worth the wait!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>:: MONDAY, NOVEMBER 14TH, 2039 ::</p>
<p>Connor knocks on the door, anticipation building within. He had told Hank he was going for one of his regular evening walks, not because he was embarrassed but because he didn’t really want to get into a conversation about how he was planning on having sex with Gavin Reed of all people. Hank didn’t like the man, and while he’d likely respect Connor’s decision he’d also likely grumble about it.</p>
<p>Gavin opens the door a crack, just half of his face peeking out. </p>
<p>“Hold on,” he says. “I’m gonna unlock it and then grab Squash; I’ll shout when you’re safe to enter.”</p>
<p>Before Connor can ask what that all even means Gavin is closing the door again. There’s a shuffle on the other side and then Gavin’s voice, muffled: “Alright!”</p>
<p>Connor eases his way in, a bit apprehensive about this Squash-thing, only to find that Gavin is holding a wriggling cat in his arms. A smile breaks across Connor’s face and his mood brightens immensely. </p>
<p>“Close the door, she’s a runner,” Gavin says, but his attention is locked on the cat in his arms. His face looks very…. Connor doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Gavin look so unguarded. Relaxed. And it’s clear he cares about the cat and that even though the cat is wriggling she’s not uncomfortable. </p>
<p>Connor closes the door with a <em>snick</em> and Gavin lets the cat go immediately. She approaches Connor with no trepidation and rubs her face along the side of his leg.</p>
<p>“Can I pet her?” Connor asks, hoping that the answer is yes. </p>
<p>“Yeah, of course,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>Gavin-at-home is very different from Gavin-at-work and Connor can tell that immediately. For one, he’s wearing more comfortable clothing (and he looks as if he’s freshened up, his hair still slightly damp and pushed away from his face) and is barefoot; for another, his tone of voice is a lot calmer, there’s less of a barrier for conversation. He wouldn’t be the only cop to always be keyed up when on duty.</p>
<p>Squash is very soft and very friendly and Connor appreciates her immediately. “Why did you name you cat Squash?” He asks.</p>
<p>“It’s short for Butternut Squash. I don’t know, when I saw her I thought she looked the exact shade of it.” There’s a beat of silence while Connor basks in Squash’s attention and she purrs at the way he strokes her ears (they’re so much thinner and silkier than Sumo’s). “Thank you, by the way. I adopted her from that guy you know, Chet.”</p>
<p>Connor is hurled back in his memory to the night he sent Gavin Chet’s contact info. He’d just assumed nothing had come of it. </p>
<p>“Which, you might have mentioned he was a military android.” Gavin scowls. “Nearly gave me a heart attack when he opened his door. Thought you were playing some sort of joke on me, sending me to him.”</p>
<p>Connor’s never had this long of a conversation with Gavin Reed; in fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard him speak this much about any one topic. “I’m sorry,” Connor says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. </p>
<p>Gavin waves it off. And then he’s blushing. “Um, so, are you here to see my cat, or me?”</p>
<p>And then Connor is blushing, too. That anticipation keeps building. He had to turn off his stress-level alert (it’ll warn him if he’s in truly dangerous territory) because watching the numbers crawl up along the side of his HUD was making it worse. He’s excited, not afraid, but his stress levels can’t quite tell the difference.</p>
<p>Connor stands, letting Squash get away and run off somewhere else in the apartment. </p>
<p>“So, boundaries,” Gavin says. “I figure we can use the three-light system. Red is a hard stop, yellow is a slow down, green is a I’m fine.” When Connor nods in agreement Gavin continues. “I wasn’t sure how far you wanted to go?”</p>
<p>“I—” he’s not sure how to respond, like there’s a glitch in his dictionary and he can’t find the proper words.</p>
<p>“Mouth stuff?” Gavin coughs into his hand. “Like my mouth on your dick, stuff?”</p>
<p>Connor nods.</p>
<p>“My mouth on your ass, stuff?”</p>
<p>Connor nods.</p>
<p>“Um. Penetration?”</p>
<p>Connor nods. “I think so,” he says. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Right. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be the one, you know,”—and here Gavin makes a gesture, finger on his right hand going into a circle he’s made with his left hand—“or if you wanted me to be the one, but I prepped either way.”</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t hesitate at all when he answers. “I would like you to fuck me, yes.”</p>
<p>A grin slices across Gavin’s face and Connor feels those butterflies again. In a lower, heavier voice, Gavin asks, “Do you want me to wear a condom?”</p>
<p>Just those words are sending Connor into a tizzy, he wants this so bad. “No,” he whispers, breathless.</p>
<p>Gavin takes a step closer, then another; the mood has changed drastically and Connor reaches out to Gavin, hands coming up to grip at the sides of his shirt (it’s washed-to-softness and loose in his fingers). They’re standing close now, Gavin’s just far enough that Connor can still make out the shapes that make-up his face, but close enough that he can see the little, beautiful, imperfections in the color of his eyes. (His breath warms Connor’s cheeks, little puffs when he exhales through his nose.)</p>
<p>“Anything else I need to know?” Gavin asks. Connor shakes his head; his thirium pump is roaring wildly in his chest. “I know it’s your first time. I promise to make it good for you.”</p>
<p>And then Gavin is pulling him into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him. They don’t kiss, but Gavin’s got his hands roaming over Connor’s chest as he guides him to the bed. Even with the shirt between them he can feel the heat of Gavin’s skin, can feel the strength in Gavin’s hands, can feel the way his fingers are quick to trace his lines.</p>
<p>But Gavin is pulling away again, quickly undressing, and Connor follows suit, albeit slower because he’s watching Gavin. First his shift is pulled over his head, the back of his hair flipping up a little (Connor wants to run his hands through it). He’s built well, his chest and shoulders more defined than his abs, but he clearly keeps in good shape (Connor wants to grab him and hold on). Then his pants, which he steps out of quickly, and his underwear. And there it is.</p>
<p>He’s stopped where he is, unbuttoning his pants, and his eyes are drawn towards Gavin’s dick. He’s never seen anyone’s in person. He has to hold himself back from taking a picture for his personal database but he tries to memorize it anyways.</p>
<p>“No need to stare, tin-man, there’s nothing special here. Just average.” Gavin glances at himself. “Maybe a little less than average.” And then he’s crossing the distance and helping Connor out of his pants, sliding them down (that’s Gavin’s palms against his legs and he can feel every soft, smooth moment as they trail down). “How you feeling so far, what color?”</p>
<p>“Green.” They haven’t even done anything yet and Connor is already alight.</p>
<p>Gavin takes off his boxers and its his turn to stop and stare. He looks up at Connor’s face and then down at his penis and then back up at his face and back down at his penis. “Wow,” he says. “Wow, Cyberlife made you well.” And then he looks up again, reads Connor’s face, and immediately says, “Sorry, I won’t say stuff like that. You’re just…” Gavin swallows hard. “Very wow.”</p>
<p>Gavin pushes Connor so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands are gentle on his shoulders and then he’s lightly tracing his fingertips down Connor’s arms, then his hands, and then his legs, stopping atop his thighs and nudging them gently apart so Gavin can kneel between them. Connor doesn’t think he’s blinked since he entered the bedroom, too afraid he’ll miss even one detail. Everywhere that Gavin touches it’s like a star is formed; Connor is sure he’s made of constellations, already.</p>
<p>“It’s been a while since I was anyone’s first time,” Gavin says. “You’re gonna like this. Remember your colors, okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Connor says, the ‘ay’ in okay tinged with static along the edge. He tries to say it more clearly, “Okay,” but it’s the same result. </p>
<p>Gavin’s mouth is hot and wet and Connor can feel it everywhere. A moan drops out of him at the first contact of Gavin’s lips (and Gavin keeps eye contact as he sinks down onto Connor’s dick) and his head falls back when Gavin has the whole head of it in his mouth. He wants to watch but He Can Feel It Everywhere. It’s impossible feeling, like there’s something dancing below his skin, racing from his penis through his every nerve ending. And then Gavin is taking even more into his mouth and his hands are joining, one stroking the shaft, the other fondling along his scrotum. He Can Feel It Everywhere and he can feel it in high-definition along his dick. Gavin is bobbing his head a bit and deliriously Connor knows that his dick his brushing along the sides of Gavin’s mouth, his inner cheek, his tongue (His Tongue! His Tongue is making those dancers race furiously along his every inch), the entrance to his throat.</p>
<p>He’s hard. Obviously. </p>
<p>And there’s no warning before he comes. He tries to say something to Gavin but it’s just static in the air instead of his voice and then the world is going white. Gavin releases him at some point but Connor can still Feel It Everywhere.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling? What color are you at?” Gavin asks, but his voice is behind the white haze that’s surrounded Connor’s vision. </p>
<p>“Green. I’m good.” His voice sounds ragged and used, like his was the mouth doing all the work. </p>
<p>Connor is more laying on the bed than sitting on it at this point and Gavin has joined him on it. His lips are red and glossy and his cheeks are warmed, eyes are bright. “Was that an orgasm?” He asks.</p>
<p>Connor nods. “Don’t have any artificial cum.”</p>
<p>Gavin hums in understanding. Contemplatively he says, “That was fast.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Connor says. He’s still not quite calmed down from it and his thirium pump is going crazy, his systems all calming down. </p>
<p>Wide-eyed, Gavin says, “I didn’t mean it like it was a bad thing. It’s actually a total ego-boost. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not something you need to apologize for.”</p>
<p>“I can keep going,” Connor says, voice still wheezy and crackly. “No refractory period.”</p>
<p>“Then <em>definitely</em> never apologize for coming.” Gavin taps a finger gently against Connor’s temple. “This turned red for a minute. Should I be worried?”</p>
<p>“No. Means it was a really good orgasm.”</p>
<p>They share a moment to smile at each other and then Gavin’s smile turns wicked. “So, how do you want to do this? Got a preference for a position?”</p>
<p>“I just want your mouth on me.”</p>
<p>“Alright, missionary it is. I wanna look in your face next time I make you come. Scooch back.”</p>
<p>Connor does as he’s told so that he’s laying against Gavin’s sheets (they’re the same washed-soft as Gavin’s shirt). It’s warm in the room. </p>
<p>“I <span class="pwa-mark decorator">gotta</span> open you up a bit,” Gavin says. He’s kneeling between Connor’s legs again. (Connor is quickly discovering that between his legs is his favorite place for Gavin to be.) He lifts them up a little, helping Connor position himself, and it’s surprisingly comfortable to have his legs splayed the way they are. “Color?”</p>
<p>“Green.”</p>
<p>Gavin grabs Connor’s butt and spreads the cheeks apart. There’s a slight chill but it just adds to Connor getting hard all over again. Gavin makes an admiring noise and then begins. </p>
<p>(Connor is also quickly discovering that Gavin has a magical mouth.) His tongue comes to trace along the edge of Connor’s asshole and he hadn’t realized how sensitive the skin there was. He can feel the difference when Gavin uses the top of his tongue—it’s slicker, cooler, softer—versus the bottom—there’s more of a drag to it, it’s dryer and might stutter against his skin—and Gavin is making circles.</p>
<p>He dips his tongue in, not pressing, just teasing, tasting. It’s a flicker, in and out. Connor’s body shudders in response. And then he does it again, this time adding pressure, slipping his tongue in a little further; Connor can feel the tightness give way just a little, but then Gavin’s taken his tongue and is back to flicking it against the sensitive skin. </p>
<p>And then his tongue again, pushing further, a little harder, forcing its way a little deeper. The moan chokes him on its way out. A finger joins Gavin’s tongue in his hole and Connor feels like he might go flying out of his body. Whereas with the blow job he felt Gavin everywhere, now he feels hyper-focused on his asshole. </p>
<p>“Color?” Gavin surfaces just long enough to ask.</p>
<p>“Green. Please—” He’s ready to beg but his voice modulator keeps going out.</p>
<p>“You’re so sensitive,” Gavin murmurs, pleased. He can practically feel the words vibrating against his inner thigh. </p>
<p>Another finger joins and it’s a tight feeling, like there’s not room, but Gavin is gentle and it doesn’t hurt. He’s scissoring carefully, loosening Connor up like he said he would. Connor’s used a toy before to see how it felt back there, and it felt like this except more rushed, less precise. Gavin is very precise and he has very long fingers.</p>
<p>A third finger. </p>
<p>Gavin hits the <em>spot</em> and Connor jerks against the bed, pleasure zinging through him. </p>
<p>“Green. Oh, Gavin, green, green, green.” He doesn’t want Gavin to stop.</p>
<p>He hits the spot again and Connor needs to grab onto something, so he reaches and threads his hand through Gavin’s hair. It seems to be the right thing to do because Gavin growls a moan against his asshole and then starts kissing his way up towards Connor’s belly. He’s four fingers deep now and his other hand comes to cup Connor’s balls, massaging them. </p>
<p>Androids only have a naval for the aesthetic design, but when they put his nervous system in they decided to make it a sensitive part. Gavin’s mouth finds his way to the tender skin and he’s sucking and kissing and licking and Connor is trying very hard not to buck him off but his body is writhing of its own accord</p>
<p>“I think you’re loose enough,” Gavin says against his belly. “Here,” and he takes Connor’s hand—not the one clenched in Gavin’s hair—and leads it to Connor’s own dick. “It’ll feel good if you stroke yourself while we do this. Promise. Color?”</p>
<p>“Green,” Connor says with no hesitation. But then as Gavin is lining himself up, Connor’s hand still loosely clutching at his hair, he says, “Wait.” Gavin does, stilling himself, eyes clear and gaze steady. He’s waiting. “I—Is it going to hurt? Did your first time hurt?”</p>
<p>Gavin is weighing his answer and Connor worries he crossed a line, worries that asking about Gavin’s first time is too personal for this thing they’re doing. </p>
<p>“I don’t have much experience in pain,” Connor says softly. </p>
<p>“It might not be immediately pleasant,” Gavin admits. “But if it starts to hurt at all, tell me. I don’t want it to hurt you; it’s not supposed to hurt. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want, we can stop now.”</p>
<p><em>That means even if it’s while you’re in bed with another guy, if you decide then and there, both of you buck-naked and ready to go at it, that you’re not ready? You’re not ready. And you </em><span class="pwa-mark decorator"><em>gotta</em></span><em> have a partner who is going to respect that decision and respect you. </em>Hank’s advice echoes through Connor’s memory.</p>
<p>“My first time wasn’t the best,” Gavin says. “But it didn’t hurt. He was careful with me and I’m going to be careful with you.” And then he huffs out a laugh. “Can’t have our best detective taken out by a sub-par dick, now can we?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think your dick is sub-par. I think it’s very nice looking.”</p>
<p>Gavin blushes and averts his gaze. “Yeah, okay, but no offense, coming from a dude who’s only experience so far has been my dick, that’s not exactly a compliment.”</p>
<p>But Connor doesn’t need his scanners on to be able to tell that Gavin’s just posturing, that he actually quite liked the compliment. </p>
<p>“I trust you,” Connor says. “Green. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Gavin enters slowly, his gaze double checking where he goes but always returning to read Conner’s face. And it’s his face he’s looking at, not the LED which he knows is flickering between a yellow and a red in a mix of anticipation and concern. The initial breach is odd; Gavin’s dick feels huge inside of him and he knows it’s probably only the head. Gavin’s going slowly but confidently, one hand bracing and guiding his entrance, the other on Connor’s chest, near his thirium pump. He winces after another inch enters and Gavin freezes. </p>
<p>“Green,” Connor says. It hadn’t hurt, not exactly, but there had been a split second where it really didn’t feel right. But it feels right now, it’s starting to feel good. “Green,” Connor says again with no prompting. Gavin is pressing further now, closing the distance between their hips, Connor’s legs framing him on either side. “Green.”</p>
<p>And then he bottoms out and for all Gavin’s jokes about being small seem even more ridiculous than before because how is it possible for him to fit inside Connor like this? Even with the stretching and the prep work, even having tried a dildo once, it didn’t feel like this. He feels… full. He doesn’t have a stomach, has never eaten anything, has no experience with ‘fullness’ but Gavin is <em>filling </em>him.</p>
<p>They stay like that, Gavin pressed flush against him, one hand on his chest. Connor is frozen, letting all the feelings sink in.</p>
<p>“Green.” But Gavin still waits to move, he’s letting Connor acclimate. And, actually, even without the friction, it feels good. He likes feeling full, he likes having Gavin pressed so close against him that he can feel his heartbeat through their linked skin, almost like interfacing. He likes the heat and the texture of his skin, which is different varieties of softness, even where there are callouses and scars. </p>
<p>Connor wants to stay in that moment of connection, wants to keep Gavin so very close to him forever. </p>
<p>“Gavin,” Connor says. “What color are you?” He hasn’t asked at all, the night’s been about him, but he wants to know. It’s important for him to know. </p>
<p>Gavin smiles, the edges tired. “I’m good, don’t worry about me.” But they’re still connected and Connor is still waiting for an answer. “Green,” he says, eventually. </p>
<p>“Okay. I think I’m ready for you to move.”</p>
<p>He does. </p>
<p>It’s a fluid motion and there’s a hysterical moment where Connor thinks this is all just some wonderful and grand dance. Then he’s gasping, moaning, static buzzing through his mouth as Gavin is out and then in and then out and then in, pumping, both of them moaning at the friction.</p>
<p>Between panting breaths Gavin says, “You’ll like this,” and pulls Connor’s hand to his dick and the two stroke it together. His whole body is shaking against his control, his plating shuddering together, his thirium pump regulator working over-time.</p>
<p>Connor cums again, the world blindingly white, and when he’s coming to Gavin is starting to slow down.</p>
<p>“Keep going,” Connor manages to say through the static. “Gavin keep going.”</p>
<p>And so he does, ramping up the speed, going a little harder, Connor’s body rocking against the bed, the headboard rocking against the wall. Gavin has pulled himself close so that they’re chest and chest and he’s sucking at Connor’s neck, licking beneath his jaw. His hand is still fisted over Connor’s and they’re stroking him at the same time.</p>
<p>When Gavin cums Connor feels a build-up, a spasm. He clenches around him, gasping out, desperately, “Gavin!” and Gavin is pushing himself further and closer so there’s no air between them. Connor is pulling him tighter, arms around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders. And then Connor follows him over the cliff, feels the world exploding, feels Gavin exploding into him.</p>
<p>This time it’s quiet after the orgasm. Gavin has softened and pulled out, helped Connor lower his legs back to the mattress, but stayed near. He’s laying atop Connor’s chest, chin propped against the soft skin, one hand idly rubbing along it, making circles around where his thirium pump is. There aren’t many nerve endings there but likes watching. </p>
<p>Connor threads his fingers through Gavin’s hair again, brushing it away from his face. He’s got a sheen of sweat and his eyes are watering a little; his lips and cheeks are still red. He enjoys the way Gavin’s hair feels, even with the roots damp.</p>
<p>“You got to see my face when I came,” Connor says, fingers still playing with his hair.</p>
<p>Gavin smirks. “Twice, yeah.” He looks like he’s ready to fall asleep where he is, body relaxed and eyelids heavy. “Should clean you up a little.” But he doesn’t get up. “Did you enjoy it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you, Gavin.”</p>
<p>“Glad to hear it, tin-man.”</p>
<p>They stay where they are. They’re not precisely wrapped up in each other, but it’s comfortable all the same. Gavin is starting to drowse, the patterns he’s tracing along Connor’s skin falling apart. Connor can feel Gavin’s cum leaking out from him—another unique sensation, having it drip out, still a little warm but getting cooler—and he wonders what it would be like to enter standby mode here. </p>
<p>Clawing at the bedroom door startles them both back to reality. </p>
<p>“It’s Squash,” Gavin says. “I’ll let her in; do you want some help cleaning yourself up?”</p>
<p>Connor shakes his head. After Gavin lets his cat in, Connor slips into the bathroom and uses the toilet, then a damp washcloth he found. He had taken his clothing with him, and he slips back into them; he chose to wear them tonight because they’re comfortable but as soon as they’re on his skin he misses Gavin and his sheets. He combs his hair with his fingers and turns all his HUD systems back on. Stress levels are normal. All systems are normal. </p>
<p>Gavin is waiting for him outside the bathroom door. He’s only wearing his pants and Connor takes a moment to sweep his gaze over Gavin’s body. Gavin’s cheeks are bright red, but he’s got a smirk on his face. </p>
<p>“Thank you, again, Gavin.”</p>
<p>The smirk softens. “Glad you enjoyed it. I did, too.”</p>
<p>There’s so much more he could say. Instead, he leaves, thanks Gavin again, and pets Squash a last time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2ND, 2039 ::</p>
<p>Connor is watching a basketball game with Hank when he gets a call from Gavin. He steps away to his room to take it.</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 55%</em>
</p>
<p>A dozen possible emergency scenarios play out in his head. There’s no reason for Gavin to call him outside of work.</p>
<p>“Hello? Gavin?” He says.</p>
<p>“Hey Con-man, hey. It’s Gavin. Gavin Reed. Not sure if you have caller ID in that brain of yours or whatever. You probably do.”</p>
<p>“Are you alright, Gavin?”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 56%</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m super! Was thinking about you. Was thinking about your dick, actually.”</p>
<p>“I’m flattered. Gavin, are you drunk?”</p>
<p>“Just a little. Actually, I can’t stop thinking about your dick. Are you busy?”</p>
<p>“Right now?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, right now. We should do it again. What am I, twelve?” Gavin snorts. “We should have sex again. I want to suck your dick again.”</p>
<p>His dick is pleased to hear it. </p>
<p>“Tonight, if you’re free,” Gavin says. “Please?” There’s a whine, there, in the please, and Connor goes weak at the sound of it. </p>
<p>“I’m coming over,” Connor says. </p>
<p>“I’ll leave the door unlocked and keep Squash busy.”</p>
<p>“Gavin that’s not—” but there’s a click as the phones disconnect. “Safe,” he finishes lamely, though he figures Gavin can probably protect himself. </p>
<p>Back in the living room Connor tells Hank he got a call from a friend and is just going to help them with something.</p>
<p>“A friend?” Hank raises an eyebrow is surprise. “Didn’t know you had any friends except me.” He’s teasing, but he is kind of right. “Well, in case you get back after I go to sleep, ‘night Connor.” And then his attention is back on the game. </p>
<p>“Goodnight, Hank,” he says with a smile.</p>
<p>He chooses to walk because he likes the cold. Hank helped him pick out a winter jacket a couple of months earlier, and he likes the weight of it and the warmth it provides. He likes the juxtaposition of the heat of his body and the cold air against his face. When it snows he likes to feel the flakes drift against him. Tonight it isn’t snowing and the sidewalks are clear; he makes it to Gavin’s apartment in record time.</p>
<p>The door’s unlocked like Gavin promised and Connor lets himself in. Gavin’s waiting for him on the couch, an empty can of beer next to him and some soft dance music playing. He sits up immediately as Connor enters, his attention hyper-focused on the android.</p>
<p>“Gavin,” Connor says.</p>
<p>“That was fast. Good, cause I didn’t want to wait much longer.” He’s up from the couch and approaching quickly. </p>
<p>“Wait.” He keeps Gavin at arms length. “I do not know if I feel comfortable being with you if you’re drunk.”</p>
<p>“I’m not that drunk,” Gavin scoffs. “Just had a little drink. Liquid courage. Look, I can prove it, I can recited the alphabet backwards, ZYXWVUTSRQOPMNLKJIHGFEDCBA. Ah, I fucked up a little, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>He had confused the ‘O and P’ and ‘M and N’.</p>
<p>“But it’s close enough. Come on, I’m not that drunk. Just needed some encouragement to give you a call. I really have been thinking about you.”</p>
<p>And Connor chooses to believe him. He’s seen the signs of someone who’s drunk (and the signs of someone who’s so far past drunk that they’ve become a danger) and while Gavin clearly has had a drink, he’s not acting unlike himself. Just a little looser in his attitude, a little quicker to smile.</p>
<p>“Look, if you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Gavin says. </p>
<p>“Well there’s one way to know for certain,” Connor says.</p>
<p>Gavin scrunches his nose, confused. </p>
<p>“I could always sample your blood, see what your blood-alcohol content is.”</p>
<p>“Uh, like a vampire? That’s actually a little kinky. Not sure if I’m into it, though.”</p>
<p>Connor blushes. “But,” he says. “I trust you to tell me the truth. And if you say you’re not drunk, I believe you. I’m just giving you a little bit of a hard time.”</p>
<p>Gavin grins at that and pulls him into the bedroom.</p>
<p>They’re both quick to undress each other, and Gavin’s hands are freely roaming over Connor’s body again. </p>
<p>“Color system?” Gavin asks, his mouth already mapping along Connor’s throat.</p>
<p>“Yes. Green. You have to use it, too.”</p>
<p>“Green.”</p>
<p>Even though Connor has felt all this before, it’s like a new experience. Gavin pushes him against the bed and he falls willingly. Then Gavin is back to working magic with his mouth, tracing along every inch of Connor’s cock, his balls, his taint. His fingers are there, too, but it’s the slow slide of his tongue that Connor’s focusing on.</p>
<p>He lasts for a little longer during this blow job, but he’s still coming, fast and white hot, and Gavin pops off and begins kissing his way up Connor’s inner thigh. </p>
<p>“Wait, Gavin,” Connor manages to get out when Gavin’s got a finger stuck into his ass, about to begin stretching him. Gavin freezes and Connor groans and shifts his hips a little closer to that finger. “Don’t stop, just—” static pours from his mouth when Gavin starts working him open again. “Before we do that… It’s my turn.”</p>
<p>“Your turn?” Gavin asks against Connor’s belly. </p>
<p>“Wanna suck you off. Oh!” In his surprise Gavin has thrust his fingers a bit harder, hitting Connor’s spot just right, and he’s seeing stars. “Green,” he says when he’s calmed down from it. </p>
<p>They shuffle around, Gavin suddenly looks a bit self-conscious, but he lets Connor push him into much the same position he was just in. </p>
<p>“This is my first time doing this, but I have watched a lot of porn,” Connor tells him.</p>
<p>Gavin lets out a real laugh, hearty and bright. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”</p>
<p>And then Connor lowers his mouth onto Gavin’s cock. He wants to tease, kissing around the base of it, licking along the shaft, fondling his balls, but he’s also eager to see how it feels to have it in his mouth. It’s heavy, and a little smooth; slick, from the lube, as well. With his tongue Connor can trace the little ridges and imperfections of the skin, the way it folds and stretches. With his lips he can glide up and down and it’s different from kissing; it’s different from anything.</p>
<p>“Oh fuck, you don’t have a gag reflex, do you?” Gavin groans out, eyes shut tight in pleasure.</p>
<p>Connor hums around the dick, currently sliding down his throat and then out again and then in again. </p>
<p>He doesn’t have anything to compare this to, and how would he? Besides sampling evidence and some thirium intake there’s never been a reason to put anything in his mouth. (And speaking of sampling, he’s turned that feature off for the night so that it doesn’t bog down his HUD.) He logs away the sensation—it’s soft, sort of, but hard, sort of, and not rigid but not flexible, and the way it jumps a little in his mouth and throat, and the way it’s heavy against his tongue, it all adds up into something new, something different.</p>
<p>He’s seen videos of deep-throating online and he’s happy to see that Gavin is responding the way Connor wants him to. His head is thrown back, hands gripped tight into the bedsheet, panting breaths patterned with moans escaping his wide-open mouth.</p>
<p>Connor feels very smug knowing he can make the detective fall apart like this. </p>
<p>Gavin’s cock is twitching a little harder in Connor’s mouth and he thinks the other man is about to cum when Gavin moans loudly and then pulls himself away from Connor. </p>
<p>“Wait, wait,” he says between gasps for air. “Wanna feel you more.” And then he pulls Connor up, kissing along Connor’s throat and guiding him onto his back against the mattress.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take Gavin long to spread Connor apart with his fingers, and then he follows with his cock, which is red-tipped and hard, pre-cum sputtering from the top and gliding down. He pumps once, twice, and then enters, fucking into Connor’s pliant body and pulling the <span class="pwa-mark decorator">devint</span> close to him.</p>
<p>Connor’s holding tightly, arms and legs wrapped around Gavin’s body; he’s thrusting back, their hips meeting a crescendo every time. Gavin keeps one hand wrapped in the blanket behind Connor’s neck, the other stroking Connor’s own dick. </p>
<p>This time Gavin comes first, releasing again into Connor’s body. Connor’s name is on his mouth, a silent scream of pleasure. And then Connor comes, his vision whiting out even while he pulls Gavin closer, harder; he feels like he’s trying to tie their souls together (or whatever it is that androids have), that’s how close he wants them.</p>
<p>Gavin collapses against the bed, rolling off of Connor but staying close. </p>
<p>“That was good,” Gavin says, a sleepy smile on his face. “Do you want help cleaning up?”</p>
<p>Connor shakes his head, body trembling, and leans in to kiss the hollow of Gavin’s throat. Gavin moans lightly and bares more of the tender skin there for Connor to lightly suckle. But Connor pushes himself up and makes his way to the bathroom, cleaning himself the same way he did last time. As he’s dressing in Gavin’s bedroom the other man is on the bed, eyes half-closed. </p>
<p>Connor dims the lights and pulls the blankets up around Gavin’s shoulders. “Goodnight, Gavin,” he says.</p>
<p>“We should keep doing this, maybe,” Gavin mumbles, half asleep. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” Connor agrees, his chest feeling light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2039 ::</p>
<p>“When did Reed stop calling you names?” Hank asks.</p>
<p>Connor looks up from his desk terminal, where’s he logged onto the police database and is comparing crime scenes. It takes him a moment to register Hank’s question. When he does he’s left confused. </p>
<p>“This morning he called you ‘Con-man’ in the break room. Where’d ‘plastic’, ‘prick’, ‘tin-man’, ‘terminator’, you know, where’d those go? When’d he stop?” Hank is studying Connor intently.</p>
<p>“I hadn’t realized,” Connor said honestly. He scanned through his memories, but whenever the change had happened he hadn’t logged it. If he really wanted to know he’d have to spend some real time replaying the last several weeks. </p>
<p>“Well,” Hank finally turned his attention away from Connor. “It’s nice not to hear him demeaning you all the time.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Connor agreed. “It is nice.”</p>
<p>Half an hour later he receives a text from Gavin. <em>Tonight? </em>Is all it says. Connor sends back a thumbs up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gavin’s waiting for him when Connor arrives and they crash into each other almost immediately. It’s a side thought, but Connor realizes he’s become very comfortable being naked around Gavin; that the trust he’d placed in the other man seems to have bloomed into something even greater the more time they spend together doing this.</p>
<p>Tonight Gavin is using his teeth, gently nipping along the most tender points of Connor’s body. Connor mimics him, pushing the other man onto his back, lavishing Gavin’s throat and collarbones. He bites a little hard on Gavin’s shoulder and the moan is delectable so he does it again. </p>
<p>In the course of it Gavin ends up wrapping his lips around one of Connor’s nipples, sucking at it and flicking it with his tongue to stimulate. Connor’s body shudders in response and static leaks out of his mouth even as he’s busy nipping along the shell of Gavin’s ear. </p>
<p>“Color?” Connor asks after he sucks a hickey at the base of Gavin’s throat.</p>
<p>“Green,” he says and then his mouth is back on Connor’s other nipple, playing with it and making the android start to white out around the edges of his vision. He pops off wetly and says, “Want you to ride me tonight, if you’re down for it. Thought you might like the new angle.” There’s a smirk at the end of the sentence. </p>
<p>Connor agrees and Gavin helps line him up. It’s a completely different experience to have Gavin in him and underneath him at the same time. It’s true, he does enjoy the new angle, immensely, and he likes being able to control the pace; he’s able to tease Gavin with his hips and it’s more comfortable.</p>
<p>When Gavin cums Connor follows quickly after. This time they’ve used a condom for clean up purposes. </p>
<p>Connor moves himself off of Gavin and lets himself slump against the other man. He’s resting against his side, listening to Gavin’s breathing even out. He runs one of his hands along Gavin’s chest, feeling the skin and the hair there, a fine, soft, and warm texture. His hand stops over Gavin’s heart and Connor feels incredibly content. He feels uncomplicated. He feels happy.</p>
<p>And then Gavin is pushing him off and getting up off the bed, taking off the condom, shaking the drowsiness out of his limbs.</p>
<p>It’s like a splash of cold water but Connor follows suit. Gavin disappears into his bathroom and returns when Connor is pulling his shoes on. He stands a bit awkwardly in his doorway and moves to the side to make room for Connor to leave. At the front door Connor is confronted by Squash who’s begging for attention. He kneels to give her some and then picks her up and hands her to Gavin so that she won’t run out.</p>
<p>It’s a bit absurd, Gavin standing there, naked except for a cat, an unreadable expression on his face.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Gavin,” Connor says. </p>
<p>“Goodnight,” Gavin says. It’s almost a whisper. “Wait!” He says, louder, when Connor’s turning the door knob. Connor turns. “We should plan. For next time.”</p>
<p><em>Next time</em>, Connor thinks. He replays the first conversation they had about this, the first time they scheduled a ‘session’. <em>“It’s just gonna be a one-time thing anyways,” Gavin says</em>. <em>“Of course. That sounds like a good plan, Detective.” </em></p>
<p>“Saturday work for you?” Gavin asks after Connor lets the silence linger.</p>
<p>Connor nods. He can clear Saturday evening. “Okay,” he says. And then he grins. “But Saturday? I’m fucking you.”</p>
<p>Gavin’s body shivers in response and his dick gives a twitch. His eyes flick down to take in Connor’s own dick and then back up to his eyes. “Oh, hell yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17TH, 2039 ::</p>
<p>True to his word, Connor fucks Gavin the next time they have sex.</p>
<p>It’s a mirror to the position they took the first time, only Gavin is beneath Connor, legs spread and pushed towards his ears, and Connor is thrusting into him like a jackhammer, making the bed bounce and squeak.</p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so big,” Gavin says between gasps for air. </p>
<p>“Color?” Connor asks. He’s getting better at reading Gavin, understanding the subtleties of his expressions, and pleasure is clearly written across his face. It’s better to ask, though; better to hear a verbal confirmation that Gavin likes this, that Connor’s doing it right. It makes every moment all the more valuable, all the more pleasurable, to know his partner is enjoying it as much as he is. </p>
<p>“Green. Definitely—oh fuck—green.” Gavin’s covered in a sheen of sweat; his dick is leaking pre and smearing between their bellies and along Connor’s hand where he strokes it in a tight fist.</p>
<p>Gavin is louder when it’s Connor who’s doing the fucking. “Harder,” he grunts. “Fuck, oh, god, so fucking good.” It’s like he has no filter at all when he’s got a dick in him. </p>
<p>It’s true that Connor’s penis is bigger than Gavin’s, both in girth and length, and Connor had been a bit worried at the start of their session. Gavin helped Connor stretch him, walked him through the motions as best he could even while he started to melt around Connor’s tongue and fingers. And then when Connor had finally started to sink in he’d gone slowly, inch by inch, feeling the tightness, feeling Gavin clench around him. “You’re not going to hurt me,” Gavin had said, a little impatiently. Connor believed him, but all the same he didn’t want to risk it.</p>
<p>And even now, after Connor has been drilling into Gavin’s ass for a bit, Gavin is still tight, still clenching around him. His body doesn’t want to let him go, is holding tight, and Connor’s already had two orgasms—“So sensitive, fuck,” Gavin had said, the fuck dragging out into a moan—and was nearing a third. The way Gavin was shaking at every little touch Connor thought he might soon follow.</p>
<p>“You’re so tight, Gavin,” Connor says as he pushes in deeper, teetering on the edge. “I could fuck you forever. You’re so fucking perfect.”</p>
<p>It’s the words or it’s the thrust, balls slapping against ass as Connor’s full length is swallowed by Gavin’s hole, but Gavin is gone, cum spurting up and covering both their stomach’s, spraying across Gavin’s chest and Connor’s hand. Connor follows, but after his orgasm, instead of collapsing against the other man, he keeps himself above Gavin, slipping his dick out, but bracing himself on his elbows so that he can hang, skin nearly touching, over Gavin’s face. </p>
<p>“Was that good?” He asks. Now that they’ve finished he’s self-conscious about it.</p>
<p>Gavin groans out a “yes”. </p>
<p>“I should go clean up,” Connor whispers. “I can bring you a damp wash cloth.”</p>
<p>Gavin groans again. Probably another yes. Connor gets up, reluctantly, and goes to Gavin’s bathroom. </p>
<p>He’s been in here several times now but he’s never taken much stock of it. The walls are white, some water stains across the ceiling near the shower. There’s nothing fancy about the shower, just a glass stall with a shower head and a little shelf where Gavin keeps his shampoo. There’s the sink, of course, and the mirror, and the toilet, but they’re all similar shades of white. Clean but not new. A blue towel is hung haphazard on a hook on the back of the door and a washcloth is folded next to the soap dispenser, which is a lemon-scented dollar-store brand. Beneath the sink there’s a little rack of matching towels and washcloths. It’s a cold room, which matches up well with how Connor feels whenever he comes in here.</p>
<p>He’s just finished wetting a washcloth in the sink when Gavin comes in. It’s not tight, but there’s definitely not room for a third person to join them. </p>
<p>He won’t meet Connor’s gaze when he asks, “Do you want to take a shower?” And then, a little sharper, but not meanly, “Wait, can you even shower?”</p>
<p>Connor’s not used to getting ‘can androids do this’ questions anymore. He’s become a regular fixture in enough people’s lives that they either find it too rude to ask or they already know the answer. </p>
<p>“I shower regularly, Gavin,” he answers. </p>
<p>Gavin looks chagrined. “Yeah, ‘course you do.”</p>
<p>But Connor hasn’t answered the more important question yet. </p>
<p>“You want me to take a shower with you?” He asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I thought it might be nice. I mean, we’re both gonna be sticky.” There’s something else Gavin is saying with the question, but Connor can’t parse it. “But we don’t have to. Washcloth’ll work, too.”</p>
<p>There’s a pinching feeling in Connor’s chest. He wonders what’s changed about their relationship that Gavin wants to take this step. </p>
<p>“Okay. I think that will be nice,” Connor says. </p>
<p>It’s a little awkward, following Gavin into the shower. There’s room for the two of them and a little breathing space, but there’s a different sort of vulnerability to be showering with someone. </p>
<p>Gavin moves Connor’s face a little to the side, hand gentle against his cheek. “Here, look away so you’re not sprayed in the face when I turn this on,” he says, voice just as gentle. </p>
<p>Connor swallows and his thirium pump skips forward. </p>
<p>Gavin’s hands are soft and slick as he soaps up Connor’s stomach. It tickles a little. It feels very pleasant. </p>
<p>“Why do you shower every day if you don’t sweat?” Gavin asks.</p>
<p>It’s a different sort of question from the earlier one, more curious about Connor as a person, an individual, than as a product. </p>
<p>“I still get dirty,” he says. “And I like the way it feels. The water pressure is very pleasant, and warm water puts me in the mood to go into standby mode.” </p>
<p>Gavin hums in acknowledgement. “I like showering before I go to sleep, too,” he says. “All you said, and it gives me time to think about the day, try to push any negative thoughts aside before I go to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Negative thoughts?”</p>
<p>But Gavin ignores the question and hands Connor the bottle of shampoo and turns. </p>
<p>“Can you get my hair?” He asks.</p>
<p>Scrubbing the shampoo into Gavin’s hair is relaxing and domestic and Connor wonders what it might be like to do it regularly. Gavin has thick hair, and recently he’s been letting it grow out a bit so it curls around the back of his ears and at the nape of his neck. Connor smooths it down under the soap. </p>
<p>His hands drift to Gavin’s shoulders and he starts massaging them lightly. He feels Gavin stiffen under his ministrations for a moment, and then relax, enjoying the release of tension. His fingers drift down along Gavin’s spine and he shivers.</p>
<p>And then he turns; it’s a bit unexpected, Connor’s been focusing on mapping Gavin’s back. He’s never had quite this much time to study it before. But now he’s staring Gavin right in the eye, and they’re close. He can feel Gavin’s breath against his face, can see where the scar splits his nose in hyper-detail, can see that Gavin has turned his eyes down a little, staring at Connor’s mouth.</p>
<p>Connor closes the distance and kisses Gavin. They lock and Gavin pushes himself forward, closer, his arms coming up around Connor’s shoulders and neck. Connor’s hands are at Gavin’s waist, squeezing. </p>
<p>Kissing Gavin on the mouth is a different set of sensations. There are tongues, battling for dominance but also giving easy way to one another. Teeth, clattering against one another if you’re not careful, edged and textured. The roof of the mouth is harder, slightly ridged, the bottom soft and pliant. </p>
<p>And lips. They drag and suck and tighten and pull. They’re wet and soft and puffy and chapped. They fit together on instinct. Kissing Gavin is wonderful.</p>
<p>The kisses end up trailing, along jaws, down necks, behind ears. Hands come into play and Gavin jerks Connor off again, unable to get himself hard again so quickly. Eventually they settle down and get back to finishing the shower, but both of them are high on lust even when Connor departs for the night.</p>
<p>On his way home it hits him. That was his first <em>real </em>kiss. He’d never kissed anyone on the lips before, and isn’t that absurd? After everything he and Gavin had been doing they’d never done <em>that</em>. </p>
<p>He texts Gavin in the heat of the moment: <em>That was my first real kiss. It was really good.</em> Maybe it’s cheesy but he doesn’t care. He can’t stop grinning and Hank, who’s still awake when he gets home, asks him what’s got him so happy. Connor shrugs and says something about new experiences.</p>
<p>When he wakes out of standby he checks his messages. No response from Gavin. He realizes he probably won’t ever get one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: TUESDAY, JANUARY 3RD, 2040 ::</p>
<p>It’s been weeks since Connor and Gavin have been alone together. Even at work they never seemed to have a moment between just the two of them. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional—whenever they did have to interact, such as during meetings or at a crime scene, it wasn’t awkward or harsh between them. In fact, it seemed that they’d mellowed out, maybe even started to become friends, and Hank had mentioned a couple of times how nice it was not to have to deal with Reed’s <span class="pwa-mark decorator">snarking</span>. </p>
<p>It was as much Connor’s fault as it was Gavin’s that they hadn’t gotten together again. Connor could have reached out just as easily as Gavin could have. Connor missed Gavin and he missed hooking up. He’d gotten back into the habit of masturbating regularly, often to the memory of his and Gavin’s time’s together, and watching porn. It helped, but he still found himself horny more often than not. </p>
<p>Like today. He and Hank had come in early to go over some evidence before a possible witness to an android-hate-crime was brought in. They wanted to make sure they had everything in order before she arrived. Gavin, apparently, was there early as well, though he wasn’t connected to their case. </p>
<p>He looked like he’d just woken up, hair a bit mussed at the back, unshaved stubble. Just the thought of Gavin being in his bed was enough to make Connor harden a little and he tried to turn his attention to his computer, but then his thoughts veered. What if Gavin looked so rumpled because he’d been spending the night with someone else, in someone else’s bed? That boner that’d been starting to pop up flagged immediately and a surge of something red hot sad shot through him. Jealousy, he realized. But that wasn’t fair, because he and Gavin, they weren’t anything. Or, at least, they weren’t anything permanent; they’d been casually hooking up, something they’d only really figured would happen once and then never again. It was luck, and lust, that had kept them coming together and if Gavin wanted to sleep with other people that was totally alright.</p>
<p>The reasoning didn’t stop Connor from being grumpy for the rest of the morning, even during the interrogation, which was typically his favorite part of any investigation.</p>
<p>It also didn’t stop his thoughts from drifting in a particularly dirty direction, and he’d had to awkwardly cover himself a few times. </p>
<p>A quarter to noon and he grabs Gavin as he’s passing by his desk. Hank’s getting something from a different detective, but there are still plenty of eyes around. Gavin is surprised, nearly trips, and glances down at where Connor has a firm grip around his wrist.</p>
<p>“Everything alright, Con-man?” Gavin asks.</p>
<p>I miss you, he wants to say. I need you, he wants to say. I’m so fucking horny and I can’t stop thinking about you, he wants to say. “Tonight?” Is what he actually manages to get out around a thick tongue.</p>
<p>Gavin’s cheeks warm a bit and he blinks a few times, rapidly, probably getting his bearings. “Tonight,” he agrees.</p>
<p>Tonight cannot come soon enough. </p>
<p>Connor goes with Hank to the Chicken Feed. It doesn’t matter what the weather is like, Hank keeps a pretty regular schedule of coming here, even if Connor has tried to dissuade him. After living together for over a year he’s finally gotten Hank to agree to eating there no more than three times a week, though that’s been broken on occasion. Connor’s learned to choose his battles, though.</p>
<p>“So,” Hank says, wiping his mouth with an already greasy napkin. “I saw you got some mail from Jericho the other day.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 46%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 48%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 50%</em>
</p>
<p>Of course Hank notices his LED flicker from blue to yellow but Connor acts as if nothing is wrong.</p>
<p>“Yes, it was a pamphlet they’ve been sending out to all deviants who have registered with Jericho. It was listing places that need volunteers, and ways to help our community.” He doesn’t mention that his had come with a personalized, albeit short, note from Marcus himself. </p>
<p>“That sounds like a good idea. Are you planning to volunteer?” And then more hesitantly he asks, “Do they want human volunteers?”</p>
<p>Connor smiles. “I’m sure they’d love human volunteers. There’s a shelter for androids without homes that I was thinking about sharing my time with; their population is mostly made up of androids who were activated afterrevolution.”</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 49%</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>STRESS LEVELS 48%</em>
</p>
<p>“That sounds like a great idea, Con.” </p>
<p>There’s a bit of worry laced in Hank’s voice but Connor doesn’t want to chase it down. There could be a number of reasons he’s worried about him; Connor doesn’t exactly have a circle of friends (not that Hank does either; it’s good they have each other); he also distanced himself from Jericho pretty quickly after the revolution and he never told Hank why, though the older man has certainly gotten hints of Connor’s insecurities. </p>
<p>They head back to the station and work is as normal. Or, it should be as normal, but Connor’s attention starts drifting back towards Gavin and their plans for tonight. </p>
<p>It’s very easy to start playing back his memories of them together (they’re not stored anywhere they might be uploaded or tampered with because he wasn’t sure if Gavin would appreciate it), and the lewd noises echo through his brain. He keeps it low enough that it can remain background noise while he works on other things, but even as background noise it’s got him aching. </p>
<p>Several times he glances up to see that Gavin is looking his way. His gaze is heavy and lingering, like he can’t stop thinking about tonight, either. </p>
<p>With an hour left of work Connor snaps. He meets Gavin’s gaze and then gets up and wanders to the back of the station where there aren’t any other officers at this hour. Gavin arrives soon after. Connor’s been with Gavin enough times to be able to read his body language and the lust basically dripping off of him.</p>
<p>Gavin nods at a door. “The locker room? Should be empty.”</p>
<p>Connor pulls him through, hands fisting at the shoulders of his shirt. Gavin goes willingly, a low noise starting in his throat. Connor loses some confidence once the locker room door closes behind them and Gavin takes the lead, his hands at his waist guiding him up against the wall and then tugging down his pants. </p>
<p>“Gotta be quick,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>Connor pulls him into a kiss. It’s deep; Gavin sticks his tongue practically down his throat and <span class="pwa-mark decorator">staticky</span> noises crackle out of him. </p>
<p>“Need you to fuck me,” Connor says in the brief moment where Gavin pulls away for air.</p>
<p>“I fucking love when you say shit like that,” Gavin growls.</p>
<p>He helps Connor shimmy his pants and boxers down to around his ankles and then he’s unbuckling his own pants and slipping them down just enough to free his erection, which pops free. It’s clear that Gavin’s as hard as Connor.</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Gavin says. And then he’s lifting Connor up by the thighs, and pulling him closer. “Cross your ankles… grab my shoulders…” Connor follows his instructions, head spinning at the position: he’s wrapped around Gavin, pressed between him and the wall, and Gavin is holding most of his weight, keeping him propped there. </p>
<p>Anyone could walk in, he realizes as Gavin lets go with one hand to help align himself with Connor’s hole. What would their coworkers think to walk in on the two of them now, about to have sex in the locker room? His eyes flick to the door and a very dangerous voice inside his head tells him it would be exciting for someone to walk in and see this. </p>
<p>Gavin is pressing in and Connor has to work very hard to keep from being too loud. He goes to bury his face against Gavin’s neck but then the other man is pushing in all the way and his head falls back against the wall. </p>
<p>It’s quick, a little brutish, a little hard; Gavin is fucking him like they’ve only got a few moments and they need to make them count. Connor loves it. He’s grasping, holding as tight as he can, but he’s also trembling, the pleasure racing through his body.</p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gavin says under his breath. “Can’t come in you at work, fuck.”</p>
<p>It’s enough to make Connor reach his peak. As he’s coming down Gavin is pulling out, still hard and wet. He helps Connor onto the ground, breathing hard. Connor’s still spinning, reeling from the sex, and Gavin goes into one of the bathroom stalls and finishes himself off in a matter of seconds. He leans against the stall’s wall, chest heaving, eyes turning to meet Connor’s own. </p>
<p>“Guess neither of us could wait,” he says wryly.</p>
<p>Connor smiles. </p>
<p>“I don’t think I can do this again tonight, though,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>“We’ll just have to plan for another time.” He puts it out there.</p>
<p>Gavin approaches him; Connor’s still on the ground and has to turn his chin up, bearing his neck, in order to see his face. Gavin runs his hands through Connor’s hair, then stops with his hand there, tugging at some locks. </p>
<p>“Definitely,” he says with a smirk. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: TUESDAY, JANUARY 10TH, 2040 ::</p>
<p>Connor was getting used to Gavin’s apartment. At least, he was getting used to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the part of the living space he saw when he first walked in. He was getting used to Gavin’s body, the way it moved, how his face reflected his thoughts, what sensations he liked best. </p>
<p>Connor thought he might want to share more—that he might want more shared with him—that it might be nice to become familiar with the details of Gavin’s life—that it might be wonderful to have Squash recognize him every time he came over—that whatever the two of them shared might be missing something important. But those were just passing, dark thoughts. He’d had similar ones about nearly everyone and everything when he’d deviated; he hadn’t known how to process a lot of things, particularly social interactions.</p>
<p>When he knocked Gavin answered the door immediately, pulled him in, and started kissing up Connor’s neck. Normally it was easy to melt into Gavin’s touches, his kisses. Connor gripped harder against the other man, tried to force the passion into himself. </p>
<p>Like every time they end up quickly in the bedroom. Gavin’s doing the hard work of taking their clothes off and Connor is trying to be pliant and trying to return the kisses. He repeats actions he’s done several times, like it’s a choreographed dance. </p>
<p>Something sticks in his chest region. He runs a quick scan, but everything is working. He tries to ignore it but the more he pretends that whatever it is clogging him up the more it seems to grow. Gavin doesn’t notice anything is wrong and that makes the clog thrive. But his LED is only spinning yellow, and even red wouldn’t be too unusual for sex; it didn’t mean it was a bad thing or a hurtful thing, but that his stress, his emotions, were running high. </p>
<p>Gavin guides him onto his stomach. They’ve done this before but that clog….</p>
<p>Gavin has three fingers in Connor’s ass, stretching him, when Connor can’t take it anymore. The stretch hurts (it’s not an incredible pain but it’s nowhere near the pleasure they’ve shared in the past) and the clog grows and he’s convinced something must be wrong but his scans show his systems are clear.</p>
<p>“Red, Gavin. Red, stop, please, it hurts tonight.” The words run together; they’re quiet and blended into one another. He sounds weak, he sounds small. The clog grows.</p>
<p>But Gavin stops at the first ‘red’ and pulls his fingers out. </p>
<p>They’re frozen there in that moment and Connor can feel the tension in the air. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gavin says. His voice sounds like it’s been broken in half. “Are you okay? I hurt you, I’m sorry.” He’s backing up quickly, leaving Connor’s side, taking his heat with him. </p>
<p>Connor turns, sits up, looks at where Gavin sits. He looks like he’s trying not to tremble, his eyes big and a little scared and a lot worried.</p>
<p>“I’m okay. I, just… Not tonight,” Connor says.</p>
<p>The two men sit there on the bed, looking at each other but not meeting each other’s eyes. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Gavin says again. </p>
<p>“I’m okay. Thank you for stopping,” Connor says. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation. Doesn’t know how to tell Gavin he’s okay, but also not okay. Doesn’t know how to tell him that there’s a clogging and maybe that’s why he can’t do it today. He wants Gavin to comfort him, but Gavin needs comfort, too, and Connor doesn’t know how to give it.</p>
<p>The clog sticks in his throat. He stands and dresses and Gavin follows suit. Their eyes are never far from one another, as if checking up, making sure each still exists. He lets himself out, Gavin stays in his bedroom.</p>
<p>
  <strike>OPENING <strong>THINGS THAT HURT ME</strong> LIST…</strike>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>LOGGING <strong>GAVIN* </strong></strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: THURSDAY, JANUARY 19TH, 2040 ::</p>
<p>Connor lets time pass. Advice online tells him putting some distance between them is a good idea, to decide if it’s a healthy relationship. There weren’t exactly articles on how to deal with your coworker you sometimes fuck, so he had to go with the next best thing. There were also articles counseling communication, but whenever he tries to so much as text Gavin it feels like that clog has come back.</p>
<p>At work things have cooled down. They both avoid each other and it works. If anyone’s noticed—and not even Hank has commented on it—they’ve kept it to themselves. </p>
<p>But as the distance between them grows it gets harder to stay away. There’s some invisible string tugging in Connor’s chest, tied around his thirium pump, and it’s pulling his attention always back to Gavin Reed. It’s on one of his nightly walks that he lets the string tug him towards Gavin’s apartment, up the stairs, in front of his door.</p>
<p>Knock.</p>
<p>Knock.</p>
<p>Knock.</p>
<p>And then he realizes how bad an idea this might be. Gavin might not be home. Gavin might not want to see him. Gavin might have someone else over.</p>
<p>The door swings open. Gavin’s standing there in a pair of pajama pants, an oversized t-shirt, a pint of ice cream in one hand, and a spoon hanging out of his mouth. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and the sound of the television in the background carries the voice of a late night talk show host. His eyes are wide, and he’s frozen. It’s Squash mewling and making a run for the door that has him in action, moving to block her path of escape with his legs. </p>
<p>“Are you busy?” Connor says. The words come out choked, stuck behind the clog. </p>
<p>“Is everything okay?” The worry is thick. </p>
<p><em>I miss you. </em>“I want to choke on your dick,” he says. Oh no. That did not come out the way he intended it to and he can see the glow of his LED turning a bright, burning red. </p>
<p>Gavin spends no time hesitating. He pulls Connor in for a kiss. It’s deep and slow and cold. Cold lips, cold tongue, Connor likes it and he tugs himself closer. Gavin walks them into his apartment, keeping their bodies between Squash and the outside. This time they take their time getting to the bedroom, clothes strewn away as they go, mouths exploring dips and ridges and smooth and rough. </p>
<p>Connor wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to choke on Gavin’s dick, but Gavin goes first. His mouth is an artist painting Connor’s skin and where he is most sensitive across his belly it strips away to reveal his naked chassis. Gavin doesn’t even blink and continues his ministrations. The both of them make enough noise to wake the neighbors. </p>
<p>When Connor’s successfully come, his body shattering at impact of orgasm, he switches positions with Gavin, his mouth enveloping all of his penis. He’s learned what Gavin likes best, how to achieve the quickest reaction. It’s a challenge, tonight, to draw it out as long as he can. Gavin’s gripping at his hair and shoulders, his legs are shaking and his belly heaving. And when he cums Connor doesn’t even try to pull away; he swallows the thick ropes of Gavin’s cum, feeling it flow sticky down his throat.</p>
<p>He pops off with a satisfied noise and is grinning up at Gavin.</p>
<p>SYSTEM ALERT</p>
<p>UNAUTHORIZED SUBSTANCE</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>ALERT</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Gavin reads his face.</p>
<p>“I should not have swallowed,” Connor says. “My systems aren’t qualified to handle it, apparently.”</p>
<p>ALERT</p>
<p>“I think I need to throw it up.”</p>
<p>Gavin follows Connor into the bathroom and folds a towel so that his knees won’t be hurt by the cool tile floor. Gavin sits next to him, back pressed against the wall. They’re not touching but it’s still an intimate feeling situation. </p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL </p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>There’s nothing Connor hates more than the scrolling “Contact <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span>” that always appears whenever something is wrong. He wishes he knew how to overwrite it in his system, change it somehow or get rid of it, but it’s tied to some of his most important code.</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL </p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>He’s kneeling over the toilet bowl and looking in. He’s opened his mouth to release Gavin’s cum, but his jaw is just hanging there and nothing is happening. It’s slightly embarrassing.</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL</p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>“Something’s wrong,” Connor admits. “I need to purge, but my system is jammed.”</p>
<p>“Should I take you to the hospital?” Gavin asks.</p>
<p>“I hope not.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL</p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>“How do humans make themselves throw up?”</p>
<p>Connor sees Gavin shrug out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, we can force a gag reflex.”</p>
<p>But that’s more or less what Connor is trying to do with his system.</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL</p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>“I read in a story once that gargling with egg whites also causes you to throw up. Though I doubt that will work for you.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL</p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>“Or, uh, thinking about vomiting. Or gross things in general.”</p>
<p>“Let’s try that,” Connor says. “Tell me something gross.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE UNSUCCESSFUL</p>
<p>CONTACT CYBERLIFE</p>
<p>
  <strong>PROGRAM CANCELED</strong>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t need it to keep running. It’s obviously broken. </p>
<p>Gavin coughs into his hand. “When I was a kid I used to eat dirt. I went out with a spoon into a corner of the yard where no one could see me from the house and I ate dirt. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not so bad tasting when you’re a kid.”</p>
<p>“How old were you?”</p>
<p>“I probably started in kindergarten. It was a while after I had started eating dirt—look, it wasn’t a regular every day thing, it happened maybe once a month, probably less. I had regular meals, too, I just liked dirt or whatever. Feel like vomiting yet?”</p>
<p>Connor shook his head. </p>
<p>“Alright. Well, I might vomit from telling this story, so <span class="pwa-mark decorator">scooch</span> a bit.” Now their thighs were touching. “The reason I stopped eating dirt was because I scooped up a bite and bit into a fucking worm. Bit it right in half. Didn’t even realize it until I’d swallowed half of it. Sure, I thought, wow, this is some squishy dirt, and then I look at my spoon and realize it was a fucking worm.”</p>
<p>Gavin does look a bit green.</p>
<p>“Did that work?”</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Ugh, okay, um. I had a high school teacher who was super gross. I mean, she was a total freak, too, so don’t think I’m being an unfair asshole or something. Pretty sure she was a Nazi—at least, she kept a collection of Nazi knives in her desk and I’m not sure how she got away with that. She was probably 100 years old and she had wrinkles everywhere and she wore really short skirts, sometimes you could even see the edges of her panties.” Gavin made a face. “Feel like throwing up yet?”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t really gross.”</p>
<p>“Liar, you’re just not picturing it right,” Gavin says. He’s smiling. “I’m running out of gross stories that aren’t depressing.” He thinks for a moment. “Okay, wait. I knew a couple guys in middle school who would collect cow shit from some local farm, put it out in the boiling sun, and then wrestle people in it. They would be fully covered by the end of it, obviously, and it was like, wherever they went, there would be smears of this cow shit. Even after they’d showered you could always smell it on them.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Huh? I don’t know, I guess they thought it was a big laugh. Middle schoolers have weird ideas. Look, this really isn’t working? Dammit. I might have to take you to the hospital, then.”</p>
<p>They sit there in silence. He really doesn’t want to have to go to the android clinic.</p>
<p>“Alright, last try. One time my shoes were stuffed with peanut butter and jelly. One shoe peanut butter, the other jelly. And I walked around in them all day. It was disgusting—my feet were wet-feeling, it would ooze between my toes and like dribble over my ankles, and whenever I lifted my heel it would squish.”</p>
<p>Connor’s imagining what that must have felt like and he’s quick to determine it would not feel good. It would feel unpleasant. He’s played with thinking putty but he’s never put it against his feet and the idea of having to walk around with that sort of consistency in his shoes makes him feel queasy. It’s enough for him to try again.</p>
<p>
  <strong>INITIATE PURGE</strong>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>PURGE SUCCESSFUL </p>
<p>“Wow,” Gavin says after Connor’s finished. “It’s just the same as when it went in, huh?”</p>
<p>“I don’t have a recycling center equipped to handle cum, or large quantities of anything. What goes in must come out.”</p>
<p>They sit there for another long moment before they leave the bathroom to get dressed. Whatever’s between them feels lighter and Gavin is smiling freely. He even kisses Connor goodbye. Before he leaves, though, Gavin says, “Don’t tell anyone about the worm story, okay?”</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>“It’s just, Tina won’t ever stop teasing me about it if she knows. It’s our secret, yeah? Alright, see you around, Con-man.”</p>
<p>He holds their secret deep inside himself and carves a special place for it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: SATURDAY, JANUARY 21ST, 2040 ::</p>
<p>Connor knows it hasn’t been long, but Hank is gone for the weekend and he wants to invite Gavin over.</p>
<p>Hank was visiting some distant family members. It wasn’t something he would normally like to do, but apparently a cousin had threatened to show up at the most inconvenient time possible if Hank did not come celebrate Aunt Gilda’s 102nd birthday with them all. </p>
<p>“Do you want to come, Con?” Hank had asked. “They’d love to meet you.”</p>
<p>Connor’s not sure that’s true—human-android relationships are still fragile across the country—but even if it were he makes it clear he’d rather stay home with Sumo. </p>
<p>“Ah,” Hank had said, a twinkle in his eye. “You’d rather stay home with your boyfriend, huh?”</p>
<p>That had sent Connor’s stress levels spiking. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” He knew it came out sounding defensive. </p>
<p>“Uh-huh, sure,” Hank says. He lets it drop except for a smirk. “Well, no parties while I’m gone, kiddo.”</p>
<p>Connor texts Gavin Saturday morning. Simple: <em>Want to come over tonight? I have the house to myself.</em> He thinks the message is clear but he’s nervous to invite him over. </p>
<p>Half an hour later Gavin responds: <em>What are you, a horny teenager?</em> And then: <em>What time should I come over? And send the address.</em></p>
<p>Connor spends the day cleaning up, playing with Sumo (at some point he just lays on the ground next to the dog, not touching, but just laying there in company), grocery shopping for healthier options for Hank, and reading a book that someone from work had recommended to him. It was an old sci-fi story about a linguist going to space and basically becoming a diplomat for aliens. It wasn’t a particularly good book, but the attention to detail regarding the alien species gave it an air of authenticity that he could almost believe this was a nonfiction account. </p>
<p>When Gavin arrives he stands awkwardly outside the front door.</p>
<p>“So,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. “This is where you live. With Hank.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Please come in, Gavin. And this is Sumo, he’s very friendly.”</p>
<p>Gavin gets on a knee to pet Sumo behind the ears. The old dog slobbers against his jeans but Gavin’s smiling pretty widely. “I’ve never been a dog-owning person,” he admits. </p>
<p>“Do you want anything to drink?” Connor asks, because now that Gavin is here, even though he knows what they’ll end up doing, he feels like he needs to play host. There’s a different energy having Gavin in his house. Less frenetic, more cautious.</p>
<p>“No, I’m okay.” Gavin seems to be picking up on the energy as well.</p>
<p>Connor coughs. He doesn’t need to cough, it’s just human body language he’s picked up on. So, he coughs, and Gavin smiles a little, and then Connor says, “Do you want to see my room?”</p>
<p>“Sounds good.”</p>
<p>Even though he’s tidied it up he feels nervous to show it off. Most of his blankets he’s folded and put on the little chair he has. The walls are faded and the paint is peeling in the corners. His side table has been straightened up, mostly still filled with the collection of things Gavin had been leaving him, but now, looking at it critically, Connor thinks it’s a bit cluttered looking. He has a small collection of books, but he keeps those on Hank’s shelves in the living space, or stored in his internal system. He doesn’t have a hobby—there’s no personality to his room.</p>
<p>Gavin goes to the side table and picks something up—a little metal figurine with the edges all polished smooth. It’s nice to run fingers over and is always a little cool to the touch. </p>
<p>“A wonderful little collection, huh,” Gavin says quietly, to himself. </p>
<p>“What was that?” Connor asks even though he’d heard it pretty clearly. </p>
<p>“Nothing. So, uh, living with Hank, how’s that.” Gavin glances at the bed. “Honestly I’m a bit wigged that we’re about to have sex in Anderson’s house, but… yeah.”</p>
<p>“Hank took me in right away. I think of him fondly.”</p>
<p>Gavin nods like he understands.</p>
<p>“I consider him my father,” Connor says. But then he thinks maybe that was cheesy, maybe he didn’t need to be so direct. People don’t just announce things like that, do they?</p>
<p>Gavin’s face softens and he nods again. “That’s good.”</p>
<p>But now the mood is all wrong and the two are just standing in Connor’s bedroom staring at each other, three feet apart. </p>
<p>“I’m glad you came over.” Connor steps forward to close the distance.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you invited me.”</p>
<p>And then they’re touching again and it doesn’t take long to strip each other. It’s touches tonight—tongues and fingers and arms and stomachs and legs and palms. Gavin shifts and murmurs “Let’s try something new” against Connor’s mouth. They end up laying across each other, Gavin’s dick in Connor’s mouth and Connor’s dick in Gavin’s. Connor comes first, unsurprisingly, and then he helps Gavin jerk off, finishing the job his mouth started (wanting to avoid a repeat of Thursday).</p>
<p>When they’re done they clean up with a towel but then they relax into Connor’s bed. Gavin’s slumped on his stomach, head turned to he can look at Connor, but his eyelids are droopy and he seems sleepy. Connor is careful not to make too much contact even though he wants to pull Gavin close.</p>
<p>They lay there, content, for several minutes, before Gavin says, “I don’t wanna fall asleep. Let’s talk about something.”</p>
<p>A beat.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you like Hank?” Connor asks.</p>
<p>“Ugh,” Gavin closes his eyes. “Not that. No talking about your dad while I’m naked.”</p>
<p>Connor chuckles but obliges. “Okay,” he says. “What do you want to talk about?”</p>
<p>Gavin makes a noise that probably indicates ‘whatever’.</p>
<p>“I like the snow,” Connor says at last. “I didn’t at first, it reminded me of the zen garden. But I like it now, I think it’s very pretty. It’s a reset for the world.”</p>
<p>“Zen garden?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Like a mind palace, I think. <span class="pwa-mark decorator">CyberLife</span> used it to communicate with me.” <span class="pwa-mark decorator"><em>CyberLife</em></span><em> used it to control me. </em>“At the very end there was snow. A snowstorm.”</p>
<p>“Snowstorms are scary,” Gavin agrees. “Everything looks the same. White. But, like, dark white, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Connor agrees.</p>
<p>The conversation dies and Gavin doesn’t prod for more. His eyes keep drifting shut only to spring open again as if reminding himself that he needs to be awake. But the time between them shutting and opening gets longer and longer.</p>
<p>Connor reaches out and strokes patterns against Gavin’s face. He traces the contours of his cheeks, the shell of his ear, the dip of his chin. He’s careful to keep it light touches, especially near the lips and eyes, and he only barely skims over Gavin’s scar. He’s tracing constellations among his stubble when Gavin’s eyes open, widen, and stay that way. Connor freezes, like he’s been caught.</p>
<p>“I should go,” Gavin says. </p>
<p>He gets up immediately, breaking the connection, and starts dressing. It’s the longest they’ve stayed together after having sex and while Connor will miss him he knows not to take what they’ve just shared for granted. </p>
<p>“I’ll see you at work, Con-man,” Gavin says. He leaves in a hurry, but he glances back several times before he gets in the cab to go home. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: SATURDAY, JANUARY 28TH, 2040 ::</p>
<p>A week later and he’s back at Gavin’s apartment. Any caution and tenderness has left in the mad heat of bodies against bodies. This time it feels more like rutting than lovemaking and while Connor still enjoys the rapid fire pace Gavin manages, the charm of being together feels lost. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 5TH, 2040 ::</p>
<p>Gavin suggests they try a new position. He seems to have felt the lack of passion between them last time as well. The foreplay is good—hot and heavy and Gavin’s figured out exactly how to make Connor explode with just the tip of his tongue. And the sex is fine. It’s less intimate—Connor is on his stomach, Gavin taking him from behind. He prefers to look at Gavin when they do this.</p>
<p>Gavin can read him really well. He knows something’s up. It was good, Connor assures him. And it was, except that it adds to the clog. </p>
<p>The clog is so heavy that it’s starting to fall, collapsing, and taking with it something of Connor—the clog will soon be a hole.</p>
<p>“I like your mouth along my spine,” Connor tells him truthfully.</p>
<p>Gavin kisses him on the back of the neck and sends him on his way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>:: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12TH, 2040 ::</p>
<p>Connor had looked at the calendar today and realized it was almost Valentines Day. Last year he’d celebrated by helping Hank puke his guts up after getting wasted. It wasn’t a happy memory, but it had been the last time it had happened. A week later and Hank was finally agreeing to go to AA meetings and seek help.</p>
<p>Gavin invited him over and they took it slow again. It reminded him of their first time except that they’ve both become very familiar with each other’s bodies.</p>
<p>Gavin is kissing his way down Connor’s chest, and Connor’s hands are fisted in Gavin’s hair as he moves. <em>Please don’t be in love with someone else</em>, Connor thinks. And then he freezes, hands tightening in Gavin’s thick locks. Gavin responds to the tug with a low moan and a nip at Connor’s stomach.</p>
<p>Love. That was not what they were doing. They’d both made that very clear—sex was sex. Friends with benefits. Not even friends, just benefits. </p>
<p>Connor doesn’t even have a frame of reference for being in love. He loved Hank, like a father, and he loved Sumo, like the best dog in the world. And he does not feel any of that same way towards Gavin Reed. When he thinks of Gavin he feels that damned clogging. He enjoys this, the sex (he moans as Gavin’s mouth finally connects with the base of his penis, and Gavin gives a wicked smile as his tongue gets to work) and he likes that at work it’s not hostile between them anymore. But he certainly isn’t in love with Gavin Reed. He’s just making that connection because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to feel about this arrangement, and because of the approaching holiday.</p>
<p>Why would he care if Gavin was in love with someone else? In fact, what would make him think Gavin was in love with someone else? Gavin didn’t do relationships, he did hookups, and Connor was just a small exception in that they hooked up more than once. </p>
<p>He turns his mind off, lets himself fall into the way his body feels beneath Gavin’s. The explosion comes, the two of them going supernova at the same time. Gavin buries his face against Connor’s throat, his breaths coming in warm huffs. They stay there, Connor’s arms itching to wrap around Gavin’s waist, to tug him even closer. </p>
<p>And then Gavin is pushing himself off Connor, looking as satisfied as a cat who got the cream. He says something and Connor responds, but he feels like he’s interacting from beneath the water. </p>
<p>He lets himself out like he always does. There is no way he’s in love with Gavin Reed. Being in love wouldn’t feel this empty, he thought. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey all thanks for reading this chonk of a chapter! A couple things, </p>
<p>1) there's definitely not gonna be another chapter nearly as long as this one. They should all be similar in length to the previous chapters, if not shorter. Real talk, though, do you like long updates? Or do you prefer shorter (probably more frequent) ones? It won't affect this fic at all, but it'll definitely affect later fics.</p>
<p>2) really hard for me to write smut scenes. I like doing the sort of artsy-ish stuff, and it was a good exercise to write them more detailed and trying to make them erotic, but I'm not sure I did it. If you have any suggestions (or if you think I'm dead wrong) let me know. There's probably at least one more major sex (ish) scene in this fic, but otherwise I don't think I'll have any more scenes in detail cause it's low-key painstaking.</p>
<p>3) follow me on twitter if you want updates on this and other writing projects! @MrozekSam over there</p>
<p>4) THANK YOU THANK YOU for sticking with this story and for reading this chapter and for all the comments and just you guys are the best and so motivating and I don't know what I'd do without you all here backing me up</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(PS stream folklore i'm obsessed with it lol)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is definitely not the fic I thought I'd be publishing right now. I've been working on a longer DBH fic that focuses on Connor (and is like ConnorxGavin if you squint) but I wanted to be completely done and edited before I post it. </p>
<p>Last night I was overcome with the urge to start this one, though, and what I imagined would be a cute and fluffy little 5+1 series has turned into 26 page chapter one. So, yeahhhhhh, you can expect the following chapters to be similar lengths if not longer.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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